


The mark of the shadow

by Azile_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, Rape of past character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-19 02:49:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1452676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azile_Teacup/pseuds/Azile_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a fill for Merlin kink_meme (http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/36351.html?thread=40305407#t40305407)</p><p>Arthur was 4 when Prince Merlin Was born. And since that moment he was marked, as the laws and traditions went, His knight and protector.</p><p>For years Merlin hated having Arthur as his shadow. never alone. For years Arthur hated the tattoo marking him as a shadow. Until they didn't anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: past rape of minor character talked about, violence, harm to a child (without a perpetrator), underage attraction and sexuality talked about

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS Tatooing on an eight year old, pain, abuse of a child, violance against a child, mental anguish of a child, character death, grief, underage kissing and canoodling

"Do you understand, Arthur?"

"Yup! I know. I'm a big boy and must always protect the little baby, because I am The Chos-ed One!"

Arthur turns in a dizzying circle and lashes out at imaginary dragons and dungeon-keepers, keeping his arm nice just how he's being taught.

"More or less."

"And we'll fall in love and kiss and have babies, like you and Mamma did, but my little baby won't haveta go away, ever ever ever!"

Arthur dances on the spot, fighting the dragon, avoiding the fire, using the stupid dancing steps he's supposed to know. For the prince. Not that the prince is much of anything, yet. He's just a tiny little peanut.

"Found a peaNUT found a peaNUT found a PEanut in a crib, everybody called it baby, but a it really was a PEANUT!"

"Arthur Pendragon, don't you ever refer to his majesty in such a disrespectful way again!"

Arthur spins, tripping on his own feet, and falls at his father's. His mother gets to her feet from where she's seated, but she's all tucked into petticoats and laced up, Arthur saw them putting the laces so tight, so she can't bend to pick up and place him on his feet. He's big enough anyway, and he's in charge of the baby peanut now. He gets up and straightens his shoulders.

"No sir! My prince is not to be disrespected."

"Good. Now, aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

"Yes sir, to sleep for the prince so I'm wide awake tomorrow for the prince!"

"Good. Off you go."

Arthur goes, turning in the doorway and, checking his father's back is turned, blowing his mother a kiss.

***

Arthur sits, solemn, by the crib. It's his second week at this and he's getting really good at sitting very still. The prince is still such a peanut that it doesn't really need Arthur, but Arthur stays close and ready, just in case the hundreds of armed guards should fail. In the mornings he has to practise balance and the mind with Gaius, learning how to read and write, listening to stories about other peanut princes, and walking along a narrow beam. In the afternoon he has what's called the physical form.

Which means he has to run as fast as he can whenever and wherever Geraint tells him, and do all sorts of things which are really quite fun on a jungle of bars, swings, frames to climb on and things to scramble under. Apparently it's making him strong. Next year, when he's six (he's nearly five now, just one more summer to go) he'll get his own sword and learn to fight with that. He still has dancing lessons, too. And the woman who teaches him shows him all about plates and forks and the proper way to address loads and loads of people.

"Found a peanut, found a peanut found a peanut in a crib, was just a baby, silly baby, but the other sillies called him pr-"

Arthur jumps to his feet, eyes wide, as the queen sweeps into the room. He bows and keeps down, just in case she heard his song. If she heard him singing...

"Oh my, Arthur. I wasn't expecting you to be here!"

"I am his shadow, your highhorsedness. Highness! Your highness. And I am going to stay here forever, it's my job."

"As you wish."

Arthur watches her lift the baby peanut out and sit with it on the window seat. She's a very beautiful queen, as queens must be, but Arthur likes the little softness in her smile that no one except him and the girls that look after the prince see. He stands beside her on his toes, looking at the baby.

"My Merlin bird, isn't he lovely?" She says, gentle and warm.

"I don't think he's a bird, highness. He isn't, you know. I asked the sparrows on the window ledge yesterday."

"No? What, then?"

"I call him a butterfly. I saw one in a hedge and it was stuck, but then the bells all rang out to say he was born and away it flew! It nearly got stuck in my hair when it was escaping. How long will it take before his royal highness can get out of his crib and walk about?"

"Hmm. It depends. A lot of children walk when they are eighteen months to two years, I believe. You, however, walked when you were eight months."

"Because I'm a shadow. I got the birth right, see? So I had to walk quick, in case he popped right out of you, bang! Pop! Whizz! Your highness, ma'am."

"Indeed."

"And your highness, how long until his highness can talk? Because right now he talks, but not so's that I can understand and talk back, and when I talk to him he just goes a funny colour and starts shrieking. Ma'am."

"It depends again, I'm afraid. It'll be two or three years before he can talk like you do, and probably a bit longer before you feel he's able to converse well."

"Mmm," Arthur says, nodding sagely, imitating Gaius. He's not sure what converse means, but he's pretty sure it's got something to do with stew.

"Any more questions?"

"Nope. He grows very slowly, doesn't he?"

"To you, yes. Not to me. Far to fast, for me."

Arthur thinks the queen sounds sad, so he bows, then takes a liberty.

"He isn't growing yet though, he's still got tiny toes! I'll let you know if he really growns- grows. Then you can have him growing just as slow as he does for me."

To his delight the queen smiles. He decides that as a shadow for this little peanut-fly, he should keep the peanut-fly's mother happy and soft.

***

Arthur's sat on the window sill, looking out at the squires training. He'll never get to train all together like that, he has to train when the king is in the palace, so Merlin is safe. He looks over at the crib. Merlin hasn't grown a whole lot on the four months he's been around, but he has grown a bit. Arthur has dutifully reported the fact that Merlin's toe nails are now proper nails and he's got two teeth that bite at Arthur's fingers. Merlin is currently singing.

"One day you'll talk properly, like me, then you can be my friend," Arthur tells him.

Merlin doesn't answer and saying such things is dangerous. It's not allowed at all for him to be friends with the prince, he's his shadow not his friend. He looks around guiltily and stuffs his fist into his mouth to silence himself, then gets up and goes to the crib, reaching in to offer Merlin something to chew on. All he has is Merlin's rattle.

"Chew on this, your highness, so you have lots of teeth to bite with. Then if I fall to some unknown foe you can gnash and gnash and gnash! Kaboom! the foe will fall down the stairs in agony from your teeth. So chew."

Merlin screws up his face and bats at Arthur's hand.

"I know! The queen sings to you sometimes, I think you like that. Right. Now, songs... songs... songs.... aha! Through bushes and through briars, I lately made my way, all for the hoary, fresh sheep sing and the birdies skip and play! All for the hoary fresh sheep sing and the butterflies skip and play! Oh, oh! Your highness!"

Arthur dashes from the room and runs, helter skelter, through the cool palace passages. He bumps into maids and boys, rushes through rooms he's not allowed in and finally bursts into the dining hall. There's a silence as the king, home for some reason, takes him in. Arthur gets down onto his knees and flings himself to the floor in apology.

"Arthur? Is the prince well?" the queen says, sounding scared.

Like when it's really dark and Arthur can't see anything and thunder crashes, and he crawls in with his mother. Only not if his father's home, then he's got to crawl in with Cavall instead, who's a good hound but no mother to him.

"Yes your highness," he says, quickly, flattening himself out more.

"May I enquire why my son's shadow has encroached on our lunch, then?" That's the king.

Arthur thinks. It's a question, so he's allowed to speak, and it comes from the king, so he can speak to the king. Which means he can get off the floor. He gets to his feet, ready to get back down there if he's judged wrong.

"His highness smiled, sir. I am to report to her royal highness your good wife my most esteemed and beautiful queen when such things are occruancing, your highness."

"I see. Hunith?"

"My lord."

"Would you like to go see our son?"

The king and queen get up and sweep out. Arthur waits till they're gone, then pelts back up to Merlin's tower, taking all the servants' stairs and short cuts he knows. He peeks through the keyhole on arrival, but he's here first. He rushes in and goes right to the crib. Merlin's not smiling any more.

"No! Smile! Through bushes and through briars I lately made my way all because of the fresh sheep sin-inging and the lamps who skip and play!"

Merlin smiles again, all gummy and spitty.

"Good, keep doing that your highness. Her lovliness your esteemed mother is coming to see this smile."

Arthur catches the sound of footsteps and hurries to the window seat, getting right into the corner and blending with the curtain. He's not even here.

***

Arthur peers around a corner, checking the passage, but it's empty.

"No! Merlin! Your highness, where are you?"

He's not here, though. Arthur hurries through a few more passages, hoping to come across the rascal. Rascal is the word his father uses for Cavall, so he shouldn't use it on the prince, but he is a rascal. He can crawl now and keeps escaping Arthur's watch and turning up all sorts of places. Last week one of the maids found him in the laundry, covered in soap. And the week before it was the kit-

"The kitchen! Of course! They're making the breads!"

The smell of the yeast seems to draw Merlin. And the prince doesn't have to walk all the way, seeing as he has magic. Arthur takes off at a fast pace and bursts into the kitchen, scurrying straight under the big table to avoid a thwack from the cook. He can see Merlin, sat there, legs out, one hand in his mouth, quite happy.

Arthur scoops him up and hauls the big baby back up to the tower. Merlin's getting fatter and fatter and taller and taller and he's big for Arthur to carry, but Arthur's strong.

"No more, your highness! Play in your tower. It's a big big tower and I'm in it to play with you! No need to ex-cape! I promise if you stay in there I will sneak Cavall in tomorrow, like I did last Friday. I can only do it Friday because Friday is the day everyone cleans everything here and pays no attention. On all other days they try and get my cheeks. So tomorrow I'll bring doggy."

"Gy! Gy! Gy!"

"Yes, Gy, your highness. I'll bring the doggy."

Arthur plonks Merlin onto the floor and sits opposite him, breathless from all the steps.

"You are my trouble, your highness."

It's something his mother says about Arthur, but Merlin is definitely it.

***

"He is growing, your highness, you were right about that."

"Ah?"

Arthur nods. He's stood by the window, waiting for the king to return so he can run down to Geraint and get on with things. The queen's got hold of Merlin's two podgy hands and is walking around with him, Merlin is laughing loudly and, in Arthur's opinion, unnecessarily.

"Yes, your highness Ma'am. See, he can say things now. He can say Mamma, which is you begging your pardon but it is his highness, not I, who addresses you so. I would never, never lower my esteem to address you such."

"Do you call your own mother Mamma, Arthur?"

"I do, but I esteem her too. I am her boy so I do not have to call her by her titles, just like his highness is your boy and is allowed liberties."

"Well said."

"So he says that, and fish, whenever he's hungry. Fish is what he never eats, though, because it has bones, so I don't know why he calls all food fish."

"Gaius took him out to the pond one afternoon and showed him the fish. I think he just likes the name of them."

"And he says doggy, because-"

Arthur stops, because he's not allowed Cavall in the palace. He tries to whistle, gives up and hums instead. Merlin, passing close, blows a spit bubble at him.

"And he says sky, when he wants to go up," Arthur resumes, as the queen hasn't noticed his slip up about the dog.

"Yes."

"He doesn't say my name, though, which is good because I am his shadow and need none."

"He doesn't say your name because you never use it with him, you never tell him it. I would like him to know your name, Arthur. There's power in names."

"And he should have power over me. Yes."

"No. And there should be power between you. The two of you, your bond, is what will keep both of you safe from the harm that Merlin will draw to him as prince. He must know your name."

"I shall teach him. His highness the greatest of great kings is returned, I shall go."

Arthur goes without further ado, flinging himself headlong down the spiralling stairs and bursting out into the fresh air.

**

He does teach Merlin his name, saying it over and over and pointing to himself and telling Merlin what he's doing.

"Arthur will throw it to you," Arthur says, and throws the soft ball gently to Merlin.

"Arthur will climb the tree and carry you down," Arthur says and climbs the tree. He can't get Merlin down, but Merlin laughs happily and they sit there until one of the big knights can come and lift them both out of the branches.

"Arthur will fish you out of the puddle," Arthur says and plucks Merlin out of the rain, letting Merlin sob and cling to him, the shower an unexpected welcome when Merlin magicked himself out of Arthur's company in the big ball room inside.

"Arthur will untangle your hair from the dog," Arthur says and sets about trying to separate the two, though how Merlin managed that in the first place, he has no idea.

**

Arthur hurries through the palace, the book of dragon stories under one arm, his homework from Gaius. He hurtles up the stairs and past Sir Geraint and up and up, climbing at the top of his speed, pushing into Merlin's tower with a bang. The maid looks up in fright and hurries to shut the door, scolding as she goes. Arthur just throws his book onto the window seat and goes to where Merlin's got himself up onto the table. Merlin sees him coming.

"ATHAD! ATHAD!"

"Chrissy, did you hear? My name! He said my name!"

Arthur lifts Merlin down, then rushes to the maid, then rushes back and pats Merlin's head. His name. The queen was right, there's power in names.

**

"Is he awake?" Arthur asks, pushing the door shut behind him.

The prince's maid looks up and smiles.

"No, not yet. You look very handsome, Arthur."

Arthur scowls. He always looks handsome. He's eight now and he can dress himself and though his mother still chooses what he wears, he always makes sure it's suitable. Today he's got his dark clothes, the silver patterning on his shoulder barely there. Today can be dangerous. Birthdays are public days and he has to be ready.

"I shall await the prince in the outer chamber. Be so good as to get him ready, nurse," Arthur says, swelling with importance.

His job is confusing, most of the time. He's Merlin's playmate (which is dull, a four year old is hardly able to hold an eight year old's great attention), he's Merlin's servant (though he doesn't technically have to do as Merlin says, he is usually expected to), he's Merlin's body guard (though he understands that at eight he has yet to be allowed to be Merlin's only protection. The prince is still under the protection of the king's shadow, who Arthur won't get to meet until he's ten years old). Today, though, it's easy. He must ensure the prince is ready and stick to his side, no matter what and no matter where.

He waits patiently, sitting as still as he would if his father was present, and practising being at one with the room. He's chosen a dark corner and if he's still enough, no one will see him. He turns his breathing slow and steady, thoughts inward, and practises for Gaius. He watches Merlin toddle out half dressed, laughing, escaping from his nurse, but doesn't move.

"ARTHUR AR-" Merlin stops and looks around, bewildered.

Good. Merlin usually spots him easily. Arthur's very careful to keep his thoughts inside. Gaius says he has inside thoughts and outside thoughts, and everyone with any power can hear his outside thoughts. Merlin hops on one leg once and looks around, smiling.

"Arthur's here... I'll find him."

Arthur breathes slowly, silently. It's no good, though. Merlin's twisting about and trying to hop, head cocked to one side, making himself as ridiculous as he can, and Arthur can't stop the rush of amusement.

"ARTHUUUUR! Found you, I found you!" Merlin laughs hysterically in excitement and throws himself at Arthur.

"So you did. Come now, allow Mini to finish dressing you. We need to go down."

"Go? Where? Shall I hide, now?"

Arthur catches Merlin's arm and taps twice with his thumb, and Merlin stills. Arthur can see the gold receding from Merlin's eyes, magic retreating, and lets go knowing there's no danger of Merlin popping away somewhere un-findable. Arthur has spent a long time teaching Merlin to react to him.

"Not now. We must go down to join your father for breakfast, today we're celebrating you turning four," Arthur says.

"Four! Big number. Good."

Merlin goes back into his nursery and Arthur charts his progress by listening, keeping track of the nurse's quiet admonishments and encouragements, keeping an ear on where Merlin is. When Merlin eventually comes out again he's dressed and clean, looking grand in his ceremonial boots and jacket. Arthur stands and takes his hand.

"Ready?"

"Uhuh. Off we go!"

They make their way down to the hall and Arthur feels his nervousness grow. This is the first birthday that Merlin's been old enough to have the ceremony and it's Arthur's first chance to show the king he can do his job. It's also the first time Arthur will be properly scrutinised. He's determined to prove himself, but Merlin's cheerful and stops to chat to everyone, which means they're almost late. Not quite, though, and the guards bow to Merlin before opening the double doors.

The room falls silent as they're announced, then Arthur leads Merlin up the hall between the tables. First those least privileged, working men and women, then servant classes, then those like Arthur who are privileged but still servants, then the lower lords and ladies, then those with most wealth and power and finally, those the king trusts before they reach the royal table.

***

Merlin's eyes get wider and wider as he sees all the people, the jewels, the beautiful clothes and all the food. Arthur leads him firmly and doesn't let him trip or stumble or pause. He does pause to bow to the king and queen, then lifts Merlin up into his chair, set at King Balinor's right hand. Arthur breathes a sigh of relief at having completed the first task and steps back, breathing slowing, excitement pressed away, practising not being there.

Four hours later his muscles hurt and he can feel his thoughts escaping his careful control. He's about to break, to move and shake himself, when the king stands.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the prince turns four today. You all know what that means; today is the day we appoint him a shadow and name him our heir. I name Arthur Pendragon as Shadow, and Dragon Lord Merlin Ambrosias Emrys Balinor Draconis as heir to my throne and kingdom."

Arthur steps forwards, legs wobbling, and takes his place to the left of Merlin's chair. Gaius steps forwards with the big book and carefully writes their names in, then passes the quill to Arthur to put his name in his own hand on his and Merlin's behalf. Then he has to step back and stand still for another long wait.

The next break comes when the king lifts Merlin from the throne and sets him on his feet. Arthur steps forwards and leads him round to stand in front of the royal table, before the crowd. Gaius comes forwards again and nudges Arthur, with a single raised eyebrow, to kneel.

"Are you ready, Arthur?" Gaius says, softly.

Ready? To give his life away to this child? He doesn't have a choice. He can say no, but that would mean banishment, marking and probably death. Magic isn't to be tampered with. He takes a deep breath.

"I'm ready."

"Do you swear?"

"By the great sea I promise myself to Prince Emrys. By the great skies I promise myself to Prince Emrys. By the Great Dragon I promise myself to Prince Emrys."

There's a roar as the great dragon hears and approves, and then there's fire and pain. Arthur keeps his eyes on Merlin and tries not to cry as heat like knives flares across his back, but the pain is too much and he can hear himself screaming. Merlin's eyes well up with tears and he touches Arthur's face, but Arthur can't stop screaming, it feels like a lit, white-hot whip cutting through his muscles and skin.

"Arthur hurt? Not good, not good!" Merlin says, patting his cheek, and Arthur sees his eyes change.

"No, no!" he objects, trying to stop him, but it's too late.

Cool and smooth and wonderful, the pain and fire is put out, his blood stops boiling and his stomach stops clenching. The pain is gone and he breathes a sigh of relief. It's not good, though, not good at all. He's not supposed to be letting Merlin use his magic like this, not for him. Healing magic is hard.

"Take is away, Merlin, sire. I'm not hurt. Take the magic away," Arthur says.

Merlin laughs and shakes his head, though, black curls bobbing, eyes gold. He seems unconcerned about the energy Arthur's taking from him, un-knowing of the draining power of magic. A silence falls until Merlin's eyes go back to blue and Arthur knows the branding is complete. He gets ready to catch the prince, sure that amount of magic means problems, but Merlin just pats his cheek again.

"No worries, no hurts," Merlin says.

"Well, sire, I believe your son is aptly named. Emrys indeed," says Gaius.

Powerful, then, Arthur realises. Emrys was the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth. Is Merlin like that? Arthur looks up at Gaius in fear, but Gaius is smiling.

"Good!" Bellows the king, and Arthur breathes in relief, "show us, shadow."

Arthur stands and, facing the crowd, removes his jerkin and jacket. He knows that the feint lines he was born with will be blazing with colour, now, alight. Tattooed into his blood forever. He counts the minute away, then turns so the crowd can see.

He dresses himself once more and takes Merlin back, retreating to the quiet inside-ness, trying to remain still the rest of the day. He can't get the feeling of Merlin's power out from under his skin. He's read enough to know that Merlin is powerful, but how powerful? It had felt endless, inexhaustible, and it seemed Merlin barely felt it. Arthur knows how much power it would take to keep that kind of pain away, and it frightens him.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: a child is hurt, and a child is attacked by a family member

Arthur watches his mother's fingers slipping the last button in and smoothing down the front of his blue jerkin. It's very dark blue, Gerraint says that this is least visible colour. The only mark on him is the light silver pattern across his wrist.

"Okay, you're ready,” she says.

"Can I still come visit you sometimes, Mother?"

His mother's eyes fill with tears, but she's nodding so Arthur can't work out why.

"Of course you can. Tristan can tell you the rules. Do you know what you're doing?" She asks, stroking his hair, cupping his cheek.

"I am to go straight to the room, and my father will bring my things to the palace," he recites.

His mother hugs him again, wishes him a happy birthday, then sets him on his way. It's cold out, too early for the sun to have warmed anything, so he runs to the palace. He has to wait in the cold, stone room, completely empty of furnishings or rugs and with no fire, for a long time. He's about to creep out and see if he can sneak to the kitchens for food when the door opens and someone strides in.

He's tall, older than Arthur's father, with a weathered face and dark, dark eyes. His clothing isn't blue, it's black, with a silver crest spread across his chest. Arthur recognises it as his mother's and a start of happiness turns his thoughts outside.

To his surprise, there's suddenly someone else in his head with him. He knows that that's possible, but the only person here is Tristan (he assumes that's who this is) and he's on the same side as Arthur. His surprise must show because Tristan chuckles.

"My job is to test you, boy."

Arthur blinks in shock as the words ring through his head. It hurts, so he tries to shut up his mind the way Gaius taught him, to push Tristan out. Tristan goes, but Arthur's pretty sure it's willingly. He pulls up his walls and feels Tristan feeling around them, testing them.

"Gaius tells me you're getting on with your studies."

"Yes, sir," Arthur says, keeping his emotional response to Gaius carefully inside. His walls hold, which is a relief.

"Good. We'll begin by going over the royal family. Back six generations, please."

That's easy, Arthur can reel off ten generations. The questions get steadily harder, but Gaius is strict and Arthur can answer them without too much trouble. And none of the questions are about people or places he knows so his emotional response is easy to suppress. He thinks he does rather well, but keeps that inside too. He's about to move, to get ready to leave, but Tristan pulls out a sword.

It's old and rusted, heavy, uneven. Tristan passes it to him, so Arthur weighs it and tries to find it's balance. He doesn't have time, though, because Tristan pulls out another, brighter, balanced sword and it comes crashing down towards Arthur.

Arthur's quick on his feet, so he spends most of the time moving, dodging. There's no way he can beat a full trained, full grown knight, but he can avoid serious damage, so he keeps on moving. He has to be careful to keep his walls up at the same time, and there are times he feels them slipping and Tristan pushing in.

When the sword comes crashing down onto Arthur's shoulder, drawing blood, his walls crumble and Tristan invades. Arthur has trouble getting him out, his insistent probing of Arthur's mind uncomfortable, even painful. But he leaves again and Arthur dodges another blow, pulling up his walls.

"Tell me, boy, how much of a man it makes you feel when you let your mother suffer at the hands of that bastard, Uther?"

Arthur's shocked by the feeling of hate crashing against his mind, but he keeps his walls up, pushing away the images of his mother crying, begging his father for something. He never knows why she cries or what she's asking for. His attention falters, but he notices the blade coming at him just in time and moves aside with a skip and a jump.

His shoulder's numb, now, so he goes back to keeping moving, ignoring the tired protest of his limbs. He imagines that Tristan is going for Merlin, and that helps a bit. It's his job to protect the prince, so he must not let Tristan through.

"Not even able to protect your own mother, boy?"

This time Arthur can't help his thoughts turning out in worry. His mother is fine and well, she is. He struggles to bring his walls up, but the memory of her crying this morning, of other similar morning's tears, are too much and Tristan gets in. Arthur's surprised by the hate pushing at him, swamping him. He cries out in pain.

Something cuts into him but he can't feel it, can't feel anything except Tristan's hate. He tries everything, but there's no getting away. He curls up and shuts his eyes. He's about to give up when the door crashes open. The shock sent through him does something. Suddenly the hate is like a tunnel and it's him in Tristan's head. He pushes as hard as he can and he breaks through for a moment, and it's enough. Tristan focusses on getting him out and he's flung back, but he has his walls back up.

He finds himself curled against a wall, blood seeping from a cut in his side and his shoulder, body numb. He looks up for Tristan, but he's met by the back of a man instead, stood protecting him.

"No one hurts my son, you bastard."

"No one hurts my sister."

"That too."

Arthur tries to work out what's going on, but he's too fuzzy and the men are fighting. One is his father. His father's fighting the king's shadow. That's not allowed, he'll be thrown into prison. Arthur reaches out, like he can to the prince, locating his father and trying to calm him the way it works with Merlin. Both men stop and turn to him.

"What is he doing, Uther?"

"I have no idea. Can you feel that?"

"Everyone in Albion can feel that. What the hell?"

"You're his uncle. You ought to protect him. You'll tell no one, or I really will make your sister's life hell."

"You said you love her."

"She would never forgive me if I let him get hurt. I'd never forgive me. Tell no one, Tristan."

Arthur looks up at his father. He feels calmer now, so Arthur stops. He's scooped up in his father's arms, then everything goes blank.

It's weeks before he can stay awake long enough to learn anything, and then his father just tells him he shouldn't do that again. Arthur nods, but he doesn't know what he did. Tristan's more useful. He says Arthur's only to look after Merlin, only to calm the prince the way he can. That makes more sense.

When he's finally allowed up, he spends his days sitting in the nursery watching Merlin. And when he can walk he follows Merlin about his day, to his lessons and magic training and herb gathering and play. His only time away from Merlin is his training with Tristan, which happens an hour every evening. He no longer has lessons with Gaius or Gerraint.

By the time he's entirely healed, he and Merlin are tiring of one another's company, but they get no respite. Arthur keeps his mouth shut more and more and learns how to be in the background, so he can escape from Merlin inside his mind. He focusses on other things, looking for threats instead of playing with Merlin. It's better like this.

  
  


***

Arthur watches the meadow, eyes peeled. He hates it when Merlin comes out here, there's too much space and too many animals. He can feel his mark itching under his skin with his unease, but all he can do is keep watch. Merlin and Gwen are lying just out of ear shot, or so they think, looking up at the sky. Merlin's playing with the pollen from the flowers, attracting bees and butterflies to him, so they're lying in a cloud of little beasts.

"Maybe we should push him in the pond?" Merlin says.

Arthur can hear them, because he can always hear Merlin if he wants to. Tristan says he shouldn't tell people that, because it's weird. Tristan hates him.

"Merlin! Honestly, Leon is perfectly nice."

"He refused to play with me, Gwen."

"He's not allowed to play, he has to work."

"You have to work!"

Arthur nods. Gwen does have work to do, she shouldn't be out in the fields.

"I happen to have your father's very generous permission to accompany you, should you ask."

"Well, Leon should get that too. I like it when he plays with us, he makes a very good maiden to rescue."

Arthur scans the line of trees, careful to make himself very still and quiet. If he's not careful he'll get roped into being a maiden. Literally roped. He scowls at the memory, but something's not right by the woods. He moves closer to the prince, trying to spot what's worrying him.

"Sire, we should start heading back now."

"Oh god, Arthur! Leave off!"

"Can you see if someone's coming, with your magic?" He asks, sure he's seen something now. He moves closer, standing over the prince and his servant, scanning the line of trees.

Merlin sighs heavily but his eyes flash gold and he gets up on an elbow to have a look in the direction Arthur points. He snorts and flops back a moment later.

"It's just my mother, Arthur. She went to that village, remember? Honestly. You're such a baby."

"I'm thirteen, and I'm four years older than you are, and how does doing my job make me a baby?"

"Because, shut up, go away again. We're busy, here."

Gwen sends him a sympathetic look, but he gives her his worst look in return which gets him a roll of her eyes and disappointed shake of her head. He stalks back to his position and watches the queen and her train make their way from between the trees.

"Maybe we could push Arthur into the pond."

Arthur feels a pang of hurt that it's Gwen, not Merlin, saying it. They both dissolve into giggles.

***

Arthur's sat against the wall, watching Merlin spar with Leon. He's bored.

"Sire, bring your arm up," he advises, lazily.

Merlin doesn't, though, and a second later he's on the floor, laughing as Leon worriedly helps him up. Arthur gets to his feet and lopes over. He knows Merlin isn't hurt, so he doesn't bother checking.

"Let's show his how it's done, Leon," he says.

Leon shrugs and picks up his sword again. Arthur circles him.

"Don't you want a weapon, sir?" Leon asks.

"He's showing off, Leon. Ignore him," Merlin says.

"Come on, Leon. I'm open, I'm unarmed."

Leon shrugs again and comes at him. Arthur guesses his next three moves, waits, dodges, waits again, then snaps in the wrong direction, catching the sword at the pummel. He disarms Leon and has him on the floor within seconds.

"See, sire? That's how you fight."

"You're an arrogant bastard, Arthur, let him up. We were having fun."

Arthur shrugs and lets Leon up, returning his sword.

"You should train more, Leon," He says and turns away, going back to his spot in the sun. It's not like Merlin can't beat Leon. In fact, Tristan is probably the only person Merlin can't beat and even that's questionable. Few people know how powerful Merlin is, Arthur's not even sure Nimueh and the king really know what Merlin can do.

Arthur sits in the sun and watches Merlin soak Leon at the pump and get chased around the courtyard. Arthur's also pretty sure no one knows that Merlin's more interested in horsing around with the boys than chasing the girls. He's only thirteen, so that might change, but Arthur's not betting on it.

He stays out of Merlin's way as much as he can, now. He keeps one eye on Merlin, but is more preoccupied with Gwen, across the yard. She's a girl worth watching, he thinks, even if she sides with Merlin on the question of whether Arthur's an arrogant bastard or not.

He watches her push her hair out of her face and thinks maybe he could marry her one day.

**

"You need to change for the feast, sire, and then you need to meet Lord Bayard's son and go drinking with him, and then-"

"Arthur shut up, I know my schedule. You're my body guard, not my... whatever. Just shut up. And must you always follow so close?"

"It's my job."

Merlin slams his door in Arthur's face, keeping it closed with magic. Arthur rolls his eyes and sits with his back against it, tracking Merlin inside, keeping extra watch on the windows. He might hate doing this, but he has to keep Merlin safe. It's his duty.

**

Arthur watches Merlin. He's laughing at something Leon, Sir Leon now and 'sir' to Arthur, says. Arthur narrows his eyes in irritation as Gwen fills Merlin's glass again. It's his birthday, though, so Arthur can't complain. He sends a wave of disapproval that way anyway and Merlin turns to glare at him. The king rises, putting a stop to their silent argument, and raises his glass.

"To my son, on his fourteenth year."

The company raises their glasses and cheer. Merlin's a popular prince. Arthur just checks the room, feeling over people as his eyes rest on them. He feels Tristan's eyes on him from where no one can see or feel him, in an alcove hallway down. Arthur looks right at him and for a moment Tristan is clearly visible, then he backs into the shadow and his thoughts become clouded again. Arthur glares.

He follows Merlin, being half dragged by his new manservant, back to his quarters later, not offering to help. He hates this job more and more each day, and what he hates most is not being able to see his mother when he wants. He knows she's not well and that tonight his father has stayed home. He wants to go as well, but he can't because Merlin is drunk and vulnerable, so he has to sleep on a pallet on the floor and miss his mother's company.

**

Arthur skips three steps and runs, helter skelter, through the town to their house. He crashes in, leaning on the doorway and breathing hard, grinning at his mother where she's sat, sewing. He hasn't seen her in three weeks, she looks a little more frail, but she smiles at him.

"Mother," he says, getting onto the floor at her feet. She offers him her hand to kiss.

"Hello my lovely boy," she says.

They talk for a while, but soon the conversation turns to his father and Arthur feels himself grow grave. He shadows his thoughts carefully and reaches out to make sure no one's close.

"Mother, I have seen father arguing with Nimueh," he says.

"Stay out of it, Arthur. I wish he wouldn't-"

"So do I. He mustn't. He mustn't. Nimueh has sway with the king." Arthur says. "She's not safe, mother."

"You're father owes her."

"Then make sure he pays off the debt, whatever it is, or she'll take it from somewhere else. Whatever it is, mother, no matter what."

"You don't know-"

"No, and you can't tell me. She's dangerous, mother. Pay her whatever she asks."

Arthur lets the matter drop, but it worries him. He sees his father with Nimueh several times after that. He tries to ask if he can pay it, but she just laughs.

**

Arthur's sat with Merlin on a wall, watching him and Leon throw stones into the water, Merlin enraptured by Leon's latest tale of adventure, when he hears. Or feels. He jerks his head up, looking around for the source.

No one's close by, there's no danger. Even the pool is still, other than the stones. Arthur narrows his eyes and feels around, but can't find anything.

"Merlin, can you feel that?"

"Don't interrupt, it's rude," Leon says.

"Merlin can you look around? Don't use magic," Arthur's not sure why he asks it, but Merlin just rolls his eyes.

"It's Nimueh, Arthur. She's at the palace. You do this every time she comes, it's nothing. Let Leon finish."

"You're fourteen, he shouldn't be telling you such things," Arthur says, absently.

He can still feel it. Whatever Merlin says, it's not Nimueh. He's about to get up and walk, to have a look around, when a page boy from the palace comes running down the path. He pauses, panting, and Arthur get up to intercept whatever news Merlin needs to hear.

"Arthur, sir," the boy says.

It's not for Merlin, then. Arthur feels heavy. He looks at the boy and just knows. Somehow.

"My mother," he says, voice croaking.

"Sorry, sir. Your father sent me. She's gone, sir."

Arthur looks at the boy, numbness spreading through him. The boy's eyes widen in alarm, and he puts both hands over his ears.

"Stop it!"

Arthur doesn't know what the boy's on about. He turns to tell Merlin he has to go, but Merlin's staring at him, as is Leon, both looking horrified. Arthur opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He turns back towards the palace, and all of a sudden Tristan appears. He grabs Arthur and drags him away. Tristan breaks into a run, still dragging Arthur behind him, until they reach a stone cottage. Tristan throws him against the wall and leaves him there.

Arthur curls into himself, ears ringing. He wants to go find his father, but he doesn't want to move. He doesn't want to find out that the boy was right, that his mother is really gone, so he stays where he is. Merlin appears at some point and sits beside him.

"Arthur, do you know what you're doing?"

"What?"

"The entire kingdom can feel that. Why didn't you tell me you're an empath?"

"They don't exist. I'm not."

"You are."

"No. Shadows have a link to their ruler, because you're all magic. There was only ever one true empath, and he served Emrys. They're both long dead."

"Yes well, I'm as powerful as he and you're an empath. Okay, no one can know. Your mother nursed me. We can say it's mine, okay? Just turn it down."

"Turn what down?"

Merlin shrugs, helpless, then his eyes light up with an idea.

"Calm me, Arthur. Like you used to, when you wanted me to stop doing magic."

"I can't, it hurts," Arthur tries to stop the tears falling, but he knows what he felt earlier, now.

He felt her die. He always keeps an eye on his parents, and that's what that was. He closes his eyes, shutting Merlin out.

"Oi, stop it! Or I'll do something and reveal how powerful I am."

Arthur sighs, but reaches out to sooth Merlin. Merlin's magic is all over the place, so it's not hard to make himself react. Merlin nods and his eyes turn gold. For a second something gold snakes between them, linking them, then it's gone.

"It's mine, okay? We're here because you are trying to stop me broadcasting it. Okay?"

"Yeah."

  
  


 

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: underage attraction and sexuality (Merlin and Gwaine are both fifteen, there's nothing explicit)

It takes a while for Arthur to get over being indebted to Merlin. He's not even entirely sure why he is indebted, but when he got hold of himself after hearing about his mother, he realised that he was. For one thing, his father told him he was, and for another, Merlin was shut away with Nimueh and his father for hours explaining how it was just emotion that made his magic so potent, making Arthur aware of just how impossible what he'd done was. Merlin tries to talk to him about it, but Arthur refuses and they'd gone back to mutual dislike.

One day, when Arthur's nineteen and Merlin's fifteen, Merlin's with a visiting nobleman, a young nobelman, bathing in the river. Arthur's keeping watch, trying to ignore the sticky heat and Merlin and the nobelman's laughter and splashing. The water looks so cool and inviting, but Arthur's on watch. Not that Merlin hasn't told him he can swim, he has. In fact he begged Arthur to go further up the river and leave him with nobelman what's his name, but Arthur knows his duty. His ink is prickling and he has no idea why. Perhaps no reason. He moves his gaze slowly over the trees, using the power he apparently should not have to locate people, but no one but Merlin and the nobelman are close. Arthur frowns as the two people become weird.

He casts his gaze back to the river, but they're still splashing and horsing about, nothing's changed. He reaches out for Merlin and there's definitely something. It's like the nobelman and Merlin are impossibly close to one another, almost on the same spot. When Arthur looks, though, Merlin's swimming away from the nobelman's chase, laughing. Arthur frowns and reaches further, feeling around.

  
  


He's pretty sue he's not allowed to do this, that it's an invasion of privacy or something, but Tristan's never come right out and said it, so he pretends he's not doing anything wrong. He feels deeper until he can feel what Merlin's feeling and is surprised to feel lust and arousal. H backs off quickly and looks away.

He's not a stranger to such things- he holds a revered position in the royal household, he's not bad looking, he stays in shape for his job, he's been in a position for such things many times. He's even taken up the offer once or twice, when he's felt the person offering is his equal. It's not that he's never come across this particular thing, either. The kingdom's not bothered by men working off their emotions with one another. He and Leon have had their moment, but it was nothing like the way Merlin felt. Merlin feels soft, happy, curious, where as he and Leon had been fighting, shouting at one another, and their coupling had been furious and ferocious. Merlin feels gentle and inquisitive, not violent and destructive. Arthur looks back at the water, drawn there.

Merlin and the nobelman seem to have discovered what Arthur already saw; they're still, now, face to face, and they kiss as Arthur watches. Arthur turns his back to give Merlin some privacy and scans the forest, trying to ignore the pulsing feeling behind him, trying to ignore Merlin who seems much more present than usual, more pressing. Arthur loses track and his thoughts turn outwards, which hasn't happened in years. He controls himself and searches for Tristan, worried that he noticed, but Tristan is far, far away at the palace with the king and his visitors, unseeing. Arthur smiles and checks their surrounds. He spots someone coming and tries to identify them, which is something he's been working on.

He works out that it's someone female, and someone who either is important or thinks she is, and she's coming this way with an intention to... do something. Arthur huffs in frustration and focusses on her, narrowing until he's go her and can feel around. She's coming with way with an intention to catch the nobelman. Someone from his party, then, and not after Merlin. Still a threat, but probably mostly to the foreign nobelman, not Arthur's prince. Arthur relaxes and considers letting the boys get caught, but decides Merlin would not forgive his amusement. He turns back.

“Merlin, sire, there's someone coming,” he says, voice quiet.

Merlin usually hears him without a problem, but today he doesn't. He doesn't react to Arthur at all, isn't even aware of him being there. Arthur scowls and reconsiders letting them get caught. They're kissing fiercely now and Arthur's pretty sure they'll be on to touching when the woman arrives. He sighs and gives in, grudgingly, to his better nature.

“Sire!” He says, sharply, reaching out to give a non-physical shove as well.  
  
  


He must do something more because Merlin splutters, sinks beneath the water, then comes up swearing. Arthur looks at the sky, trying for innocence.

“What do you want, you utter prat? And what the hell was that? Don't answer, I already know: you have no idea what I'm talking about. What do you want?”

“There's a person coming, of the female persuasion, and she seems to want to do all sorts of things to your body, sir,” Arthur says, improvising and guessing as he turns his gaze on the foreign nobelmanling.

“Oh bloody hell, Merlin. It must be that bloody with Vivian, Olaf's daughter. You said they were arriving. She's been after me for ages!”

Arthur frowns. He doesn't like Vivian either, she's rude and tried to proposition him last time she visited, with the single intention of getting him beheaded. He's surprised he didn't recognise her. In fact he would have recognised her.

“Nope, guess again, not her. And Merlin, why didn't you tell me she was arriving?” Arthur says.

“Because, you dolt, last time she came you hid in the stables for days and I couldn't leave the palace without Tristan, who I don't like. So there,” Merlin says, sticking out his tongue.

Arthur laughs, reminded forcibly of Merlin as a toddler, back when Arthur was actually fond of the idiot. He checks around again.

“She's nearly here, whoever she is, so you two had better hop out if you want to save your modesty,” Arthur says.

Merlin heaves himself out of the river and stretches, making a point of showing himself off, and the nobelman climbs after him, making for him and tumbling him into the grass. Arthur sighs dramatically and opens his mouth to remind them of their impending visitor, but Merlin's taken away his voice. Again.

He turns away and takes out his frustration on the poor frog in his head, who his mother told him, back when he was six, was the thing that could take all his anger and not mind a bit. Well, she'd asked what she thought that would be, and he'd been in a sulk and told her a frog, and she'd named it and always referred to it, to help him keep his temper in check. Arthur's still scowling and berating an imaginary Frog named Gethin when the woman finally steps out from between the trees.

It's not Vivian. It's a blonde, pretty girl of about sixteen, at a guess. She's beautiful, but when Arthur reaches out he can't feel any of the things he always looks for first in Merlin, and Merlin is Arthur's bench mark for everyone he meets. She laughs and looks right at Arthur, and for a moment Arthur thinks he's done for, but then she looks right through him as she is supposed to and he sighs in relief, turning so he can keep watch as she steps towards the nobleman, (Gwaine, Arthur remembers) and Merlin.

“Sir Gwaine, my knight!” she says as if delighted.

“Eira. Of course, I should have known it was you,” Gwaine says.

Arthur growls, and Merlin sends wide, very unsubtle eyes at the nobleman, who looks none the wiser, grinning charmingly at the girl.

“Known who was me?” she asks, and Gwaine catches on.

He laughs and steps forwards.

“We were just having a dip in the river, Merlin and me. Would you like to join us?” he says, ignoring the question.

Arthur's surprised at the sudden strength of the girl in his head, like she's burning. He focusses on her, worried, and finds anger and pain and humiliation. He feels almost sorry for her. She falters and looks around.

“What was that?” she says.

Arthur realises he soothed her and lets go, stepping back away from her. She shakes herself and turns to Gwaine, batting her eyelids.

“What was what? Shall we walk, my lady?” Sir Gwaine asks, offering her his arm.

Hurt flashes through Merlin and Arthur narrows his eyes, ready to go for Gwaine. Merlin turns to him, looking right at him, and rolls his eyes, which flash. Arthur feels a sharp pain his his knee, as if Merlin just kicked him, and he supposes that means don't attack these nice people. Nice. Humph. Instead, Arthur shoves at Merlin again and Merlin stumbles, right into the nobleman. Arthur smiles in satisfaction as the girl's arm is knocked away from Gwaine's.

“Oh heaven's above! I completely forgot, Eira, that I have to be with my father at the palace. I must apologise, but Merlin and myself must ride back,” Gwaine says.

Arthur nods in approval and gets another eyeroll from Merlin for his trouble. Arthur turns his attention back to the girl and feels a surge of anger from her. He watches closely, worried again, as the anger grows and grows.

“Sir Gwaine, you wouldn't leave me in this forest would you? Alone? There might be bandits,” she says.

Merlin concentrates for a moment and Arthur feels his magic, soft as ever, brushing by.

“Nope, no bandits. Just you, me, Gwaine and some game birds, who's classification I can't for the life of me remember,” Merlin says, gesturing to Arthur to get the horses.

Arthur stays still, focussing on this girl, this Eira. He might be Merlin's body guard, but he's pretty certain Merlin will hang him up by his ankles with magic and light a fire under his head and slowly lower him into it (it's a threat he's used before) if Arthur lets this nobleman get hurt. Arthur reaches into her, trying to find her magic, because she has magic. He can feel that. He finds it and judges. Again he uses Merlin, but no one's got as much magic as Merlin. Not even Nimueh, which Arthur is very careful to keep from her.

“Sorry Eira, it just has to be,” Gwaine says, “What are you doing here, anyway? I didn't know you were visiting Camelot?”

“Because, I suppose, now that my family is dead I have no purpose to do anything except stay locked up with my dreadful uncle?” she says.

Arthur feels her magic stir. Gwaine laughs, head back, and Arthur turns his thoughts outwards just as the magic is about to burst out of her. She spins, spots him, and turns back on Gwaine. But Arthur's not done. He presses into Merlin, pushes him into the river, then darts forwards. He knows he can move quicker than most, and he uses it to his advantage, getting hold of her and turning, holding on.

“Fish Merlin out and ride to the city, sir. I'll need Nimu-” Arthur's cut off as Eira tries using magic.

Arthur feels it run up his arms and into his back, his tattoo sucking it out of the air. He closes his eyes against the pain, feeling the tattoo burn as if it's new again. He can hear Gwaine pulling Merlin out and Merlin cursing.

“You know I could-” Merlin starts.

“Yeh, I know, but... Nimueh doesn't! Go!” Arthur cuts him off.

He feels Merlin leaving and the girl tries magic again, stronger this time. Arthur keeps quiet for her next two tries, but then he starts crying out and she screams, too, calling spells and damnation down upon his head. He clings to her, keeping her close, trying to ignore the burning pain. He remembers this pain, remembers Merlin soothing it, remembers Gaius saying 'Emrys indeed'. He focusses on the feeling of Merlin's magic, focusses on the golden link the day his mother died, focusses on his mother's face and voice, thinks of her singing him to sleep, and then it's over.

“Let her go.”

Arthur feels around, recognises Nimueh and the king, and lets go immediately, falling to his knees, head down. His nose is bleeding and his back is throbbing.

“I'm curious, Balinor. Shall we see how the deep magic works?” Nimueh says.

Arthur can't feel anyone except Merlin and his father, numbness spreading over him. He knows Nimueh is taking off his shirt and running her hand over his mark, but he doesn't feel it. All he feels is the steady drip of blood on to his top lip.

“Leave the boy, Nimueh. Deal with the girl who threatened my son.”

That must be the king. Arthur looks up and finds him with his physical sight, trying to read his face, but all he sees is anger. Arthur sees the foreign nobleman and sees something else in him, something deeper, like knowing. Arthur tries to reach out to find it, but it hurts. He'll have to do this another way.

“Not your son, sire. His,” he says, pointing at the foreign nobleman.

Balinor turns, face changing again. Arthur can't read it. He doesn't bother trying, exhaustion pulling at his mind. He turns to the foreign noble, but there's shock and pain and terror there, no knowing, not any more. Just another one with a sense that the king of Camelot goes about it all wrong, then. Arthur slumps and reaches for Tristan, who's suddenly there.

Arthur might hate the man, but it's Tristan's job to get him back to the palace. Arthur takes a deep breath and borrows strength from the man at his side, which is something he is supposed to be able to do. He thinks. He takes another deep breath and wraps his arm around Tristan's strong shoulders, and then they're standing. He's done his duty, the boys are safe, the foreigner is no threat. He sighs.

***

Arthur stretches and leans back against the wall where he's sat, watching Merlin train with Gwaine, who is now a fixture are court and beyond. Gwaine's very skilled with a sword and it's a real pleasure to watch him trouncing Leon, not least because Leon deserves a very thorough trouncing. It's even more fun watching him being trounced by Merlin. No one can beat Merlin. Not even Arthur can beat Merlin.

He can guide him, nudge him, sooth him and calm him, he can even sometimes partially control him, but when they spar together Merlin always wins, usually by tripping him up and making him fall face first, into the mud if Merlin can manage it. Arthur watches Gwaine trip over his feet and tumble to the ground for the hundredth time and lets out a laugh.

Merlin turns, eyes bright gold, magic still with him, and Arthur's silenced. They don't even need to have the argument, they've had it so many times. 'Don't laugh unless you want a try', 'I'll beat you this time, I could take you apart with a blow', 'I could take you apart with less than that', 'I'll have you walking on your knees', and then Arthur will be kneeling and he'll have to fight Merlin from there. He waves Merlin away, feeling too sun soaked to bother because he knows Merlin will win.

“It'll get you killed one day, sire,” he says instead, “pride is always a man's downfall. Let's just hope you never need be tested on a battlefield.”

“You've never been on a battlefield, Arthur,” Leon says, dropping over the wall with a thud.

Arthur shrugs and gets to his feet, pulling Leon up.

“You get Gwaine,” he says, shoving Leon into the ring cut out of the long grass.

Leon staggers and complains about just finishing training with the knights, but he draws and circles Gwaine willingly enough. Arthur sighs and reaches out with his mind, checking where everyone is; Tristan's with the king and Geoffrey in the library, he's the main worry, and Nimueh... Arthur reaches further and further and is surprised to find her leagues and leagues away from Camelot. He comes back with a gasp and stares at Merlin wide eyed.

“Nimueh is on the coast, heading North,” he says in shock, he doesn't usually reach so far, he's never tried before.

“So?” Merlin says, circling.

Arthur shrugs and draws his sword, though it's useless. He decides to be cocky.

“Better blunt it, Merlin. Just in case I get you on your knees. We wouldn't the crown prince to die from a bit of friendly competition, would we?”

“Cocky prat.”

Arthur's blade heats in his hand, though, and blunts itself. He circles Merlin, trips, rights himself and stills. He knows Merlin, can feel his magic, can feel his mood. He reaches out and takes hold of the magic, soothes it, calms it, and circles again. He stills, turns his thoughts inside and holds his breath, invisible for a very brief second to even Merlin, then he turns his thoughts swiftly outwards and lunges.

Merlin trips him again and he stumbles, crossing the circle, then they're circling again, watching one another, eyes narrowed. Arthur can hear Leon and Gwaine trading insults, laughing, the clash of their swords. He guides Merlin's attention to them, focussing in close to the clash of iron on iron, to the boys' laughter, the thundering of their feet, the merlin bird that's circling.

Merlin's always fallen for birds. He heads tilts back a tiny bit and Arthur darts, but he's brushed off easily, and the merlin comes curiously down to them, landing on the ground between them.

“Oops,” Merlin says, and Arthur laughs.

The bird waddles, head cocked to one side, first to Merlin then to Arthur. They've both lost the thread of their battle and Arthur sticks his sword in the ground, laughing at the bird along with Merlin. Somehow the tension that's always between them, the animosity at having to be always together, fades slightly.

“You're such an idiot, Merlin. How did you even do that?”

“Dunno, I thought it might be nice to see what I was named after and down he flew,” Merlin says.

Gwaine and Leon come over, and the bird takes fright and cries out, flying away, up and up. Merlin follows it with his eyes and Arthur turns to the two knights.

“Look at that, boys! I duelled with the prince and did not end up on my face!” he says.

Which, of course, makes Merlin twitch his hand and lay him out flat on his back. Arthur looks up, grinning, feeling good natured about it.

“Still not on my face, though,” he says and Leon actually laughs with him instead of at him for once.

“I thought that black mark spread across your back meant no one could do magic. I'n't that how you hung on to Eira that time?” Gwaine asks, brow furrowed.

He's foreign, so perhaps he doesn't know, but he's been here enough to have an inkling. Arthur, firmly put into his place, withdraws back to the wall and takes up his dutiful post, reminded quite clearly of his place.

“Gwaine. Arthur, he probably doesn't know, it doesn't count,” Leon says, tutting lightly.

It's been said, though, and Gwaine is definitely above him. It can't just be taken back. Arthur turns himself quiet and sinks into the shadows, moving so Leon's no longer looking at him. When Leon reaches out, he touches only air. As it should be.

“Leave him, Leon. He's sulking, it'll go on all day. Thanks, Gwaine, for that. No one can do magic when Arthur's... well, the books all say that the shadow has to surround them, so they always go for that kind of hug thing, but I reckon that it's more of a mental surround. Because I haven't seen a record of a tattoo working that well anywhere. It usually just weakens the magic. Not like that, soaking it up. Nimueh thinks it's because I'm powerful,” Merlin explains.

Leon gives the air another prod, then sighs and leaves. Arthur's familiar with Merlin's explanation. He's also familiar with Merlin's real theory, that Arthur's empathic abilities make him link with the magic of the user, which links with the tattoo.

“Anyway, he can't stop me. I'm his king, so it doesn't work. I have my own mark,” Merlin says, completely careless.

Arthur thrusts out against Merlin and sends him toppling, pushes anger and fear at him and turns himself outward, reaching for everyone close. No one except Gwaine is in hearing, so it's Gwaine he gets hold of. He considers violence, but instead presses down as hard as he can, and Gwaine cries out.

“What is that?” Gwaine says, clutching his head.

“That is just a taste of what I'll do to you if you ever mention to anyone what Merlin just told you. Do you understand?”

“Yes!” Gwaine cries.

“Let him go, prat, and stop that or someone will notice. It's just Gwaine!” Merlin says.

Arthur does as he's told. He's made his point. He's also had this argument with Merlin, over whether things like Merlin's mark and it's connection with the shadow should be public ('if they know it's just magic, they'll try to change it', 'who cares? It's outdated anyway. Marks. Pah!', 'it protects you', 'it links me to you, that's it. Anyway, my theory is that we're linked anyway. Did you know that a shadow is never born? That you are an anomaly? You were born with ink under your skin, you freak', 'so were you. It happens to everyone', 'no it doesn't. Most shadows and kings are marked by magic. Sure, they have a prevalence, but not ink', 'you're mad. And that's even more reason for no one to ever know').

Arthur sits back against the wall, but Gwaine and Merlin are done training. They flop down in the grass out of Arthur's hearing and he doesn't bother listening.

***

Arthur watches Merlin accepting the crown, trying to get his head around the fact that the baby he met all those years ago, when his main job had been to make Merlin smile, is now a young man. Officially a young man. Eighteen and no longer simply marked to inherit, but written into it. Arthur listens to the oath that he knows off by heart too, thanks to Merlin's endless practising, and feels something inside him flicker.

Merlin looks different. He looks less of a boy. Arthur knows it doesn't work like that, but at the same time he knows Merlin thinks it does, and now he has decided to put away childish things. Arthur's been part of the preparations, helping Merlin sneak away with Gwen and Gwaine to be wild a last time, helping Merlin sneak to the stables for a last tryst with the stable boy (who had cried, still not knowing that his lover was the prince, to say goodbye). He had even got hold of wine so Merlin could try being legless with the knights, and introduced Merlin (disguised with a charm) as his cousin from the countryside. Leon had known, but the others hadn't.

Arthur's eyes find Leon and Leon's find him, smiling when he can find Arthur. Leon's got better at it, as they've learnt to get along. Arthur turns his thoughts outwards. He's not on duty tonight, as is tradition. The prince's shadow comes to the written crowning as a guest. He's dressed in his finest clothes, he's clean and he's shaved. It's a habit to be invisible, but tonight he has to be seen. His neighbour starts everytime Arthur remembers to turn outwards, which is entertaining.

The ceremony ends and the people rise as the king, smiling widely, escorts the queen from the throne room. When they've gone Merlin beams around and bounds over to Gwen, laughing with her, then makes his way through the crowd of well wishers. Arthur automatically checks their wishes really are for Merlin to be well, then catches Tristan's eye and turns himself back off. It's really difficult, he's been on since he was four years old.

  
  


“Arthur. You look nice,” Leon says, coming up beside him, “I like being able to see where you are for more than five minutes.”

“You just miss being able to beat me when he spar,” Arthur replies, smiling, keeping an eyes on Merlin.

“Having trouble switching off?” Leon asks, hand holding Arthur's elbow, trying to get his attention.

Arthur looks at him briefly, feeling for Merlin while he's looking away, and sees Leon's amused, not hurt or upset.

“Endless trouble,” Arthur says, keeping his eyes on Leon, “right now he's talking to Geoffrey about how heavy the crown is and making a nuisance of himself. He's frenetic with energy. Oh, now he's talking to Lady Eined, making her blush.”

Leon laughs and nods, eyes on Merlin. Arthur can feel Merlin, and see Leon looking at him, and he can feel Leon looking at Merlin, and he can feel Merlin feeling Leon looking. It's weird.

“Actually, it's worse than normal, because of the crowds,” he admits.

“I could help,” Leon says stepping closer, breath sweet on Arthur's face.

Arthur feels his brain switch, briefly, to Leon, and he feels Leon pulling at him, insistent, lust and heat and arousal and Leon's been waiting for this, Arthur's night off. Arthur nods and let's Leon pull him from the room, feeling a last flash from Merlin of something that feels like hurt and jealousy and something kind of like his mother, and his father, and Merlin. Something bright and golden and amazing.

But then he's following Leon and laughing as Leon breaks into a run, and it doesn't take long for them to reach Leon's quarters and Leon's hands are insistant on his clothing and lips and and breath and lust and arousal take over. Arthur follows tradition in taking the chance of his night off to bed his lover and, for the first time, stay the night after.

  
  


 

 


	4. Chapter Four

Arthur watches Merlin, hawk on his wrist, stand in the long grass with his father. He watches the moment the bird is launched, can feel Merlin's magic, can feel a breathless freedom within Merlin. At eighteen, he's gangly and ungainly, tripping up over everything and making Gerraint despair in training. But out here, he's different.

It's not just the presence of the king and the handful of lords who own birds. Merlin has an affinity with them, somehow. Anything with wings. The heat is still with them, though summer is ending, and Arthur can feel, through Merlin, the beat of wings and soar of wind and great cries, echoing around.

Merlin sways, turning to Arthur, eyes wide. Arthur turns his thoughts outwards, briefly, allowing Merlin to feel, through Arthur, what he is already feeling. Merlin smiles a bright, happy smile that's rare since his eighteenth birthday, and turns away.

Maybe it's the intensified lessons, the sudden necessity of going to court, the days spent at his father's side in the throne room to learn, or maybe it's the way Gerraint pushes him, demanding more, or maybe it's the increase in interest from foreign dignitaries that makes Merlin smile less. He has less time to play, to visit Gwen and Leon or tussle with Gwaine, as well, so maybe it's that.

In the last four months, though, Arthur's noticed the downward turning of the prince's mood. Here, it leaps again and seems to follow the birds, swooping through the air currents. The lightness that Merlin used to be so full of returns here, and Arthur's glad. He likes Merlin's innocence.

As he watches, the birds return to their masters and the king calls it a day, transferring his bird to the boy waiting to receive it. Merlin, who never uses the same bird twice, yet always shows most skill, undoes the jesses that hold it, raising his wrist and launching the hawk once more, shading his eyes and watching it glide away.

By the time it's out of sight and Merlin turns, the field is empty. Merlin looks around, then comes over to Arthur.

"Back to the palace, sire?" Arthur asks, knowing the answer.

"No. Lie here with me? You're better at naming the clouds."

Arthur squints up at the bright, cloudless sky, but shrugs and gets down on the ground, shutting his eyes against the bright light. He feels Merlin lay beside him, close as is his new habit, and the grass brush against his face, and the grass brush against Merlin's face.

"What's it like?" Merlin asks, "Feeling everything through people, as well as through yourself?"

"Like... right now I feel things twice, because you feel it too. Earlier, I felt the bird's flight, because you did. Sometimes I feel things I know aren't mine, sometimes I can't tell, and sometimes I think I'm sad when really it's just the maid, hopes dashed once more by that handsome kitchen boy."

Merlin laughs, an undignified snort breaking lose. He's still such a child sometimes, Arthur thinks, turning his head to look. Merlin's got freckles from the summer heat.

"What's it like, with the birds?" Arthur asks.

Merlin turns to look at him, eyes filled with the warmth they missed for a long time. Gwaine brought it back, re-kindling the kind, generous nature Merlin had given up on being too much spoilt. Or Arthur believes so, anyway.

"It's like... like the clear sky, all the way to the horizon. The light and wind, the shape of the elements, the taste of the sunlight. Or the taste of mouse, I'm not sure which. It feels like freedom. From marks, from father, from destiny."

"The great dragon comes down,  
Called by the last of a line,  
The last of the lord-voiced warriors,  
the last of his kind.

Kilgarrah will come from the mountains,  
winging thunder and fire and death,  
he'll come with the word of the wizard,  
remembered from long-ago breath.

No master shall he have, though one shall call him,  
No words shall he have, though one has given him,  
no one will know what he speaks, save those who know him," Arthur says, softly, sing-song.

"My birth-verse. Everyone across the kingdom knows it. My father fears it, he believes Kilgarrah is the last dragon, and he believes the verse means that I will be the last dragonlord."

"Everyone has a verse, sire. Very few come true. It's more of a... suggestion, than a prophecy."

"What was yours? I never asked."

"You have, several times. I never told you, though."

"Will you tell me now?"

Arthur meets Merlin's eyes, then looks away.

"Born to serve, he will die free,  
No one can forsee who he will be,  
The king will conquer, the world will fall,  
He will sleep under the hill, until Merlin's call.

Birth-right of shadow shall fall away,  
Gift of feeling will blossom and fade,  
He shall be crowned by the sword in the stone,  
Bright iron, dragon's breath made.

He shall come, when Merlin calls,  
He shall fall, when Merlin asks,  
He shall die at the sword of the man he trusts,  
And Merlin will turn time back to the fall."

"I'm in it," Merlin says, voice hoarse.

"I never told you, in case it was you. It could be anyone, it could be the old wizard Merlin and have nothing to do with you and be symbolic. Either way, it goes to highlight my point- I am not a king. No one really knows what these things mean."

"What was your mother's?"

Arthur shifts uncomfortably. Merlin often talks about Arthur's mother, and makes Arthur talk about her, which Arthur isn't sure whether he likes or not.

"Enough for now, sire."

"Alright."

They lie in silence for a while, Arthur relaxing and going off duty for a while, because he can feel the king, Tristan and many knights very close by.

***

"Father, I am nineteen years old soon and I am your crown prince! I should have been entering tournaments for years, and yet I've only been part of three! How am I meant to prove myself worthy?"

"You may enter the summer tournament. You may not enter this. Nimueh has not completed your training; you are not ready to enter a solely magical tournament."

"Father-"

"Enough."

Arthur watches Merlin storm out, but doesn't follow him. Merlin's man servant is stood on the other side of the room, preparing to keep an eye on the rest of the court session to report back to Merlin later. Arthur steps forward and clears his throat.

The entire table full of nobles and knights turns to look at him, and he can feel Tristan's censure, but he has the right to speak in court. Besides his duty as shadow, he is a Pendragon, and as such a lord. His father, old and weary, looks at him with dull eyes, so long devoid of much.

"Sire, if I may be so bold, I believe the kingdom has need of it's prince," he says, bowing before speaking and speaking only to the king.

"You may not be so bold," the king says, but waves his hand for Arthur to continue.

"There have been skirmishes on your boarders, Gerraint has reports of bandits who have taken up with desperate groups of the Druid people, who you exclude from Camelot on religious grounds, and your knights are failing to deal with them effectively, because the army has not integrated magic into it's core. You reserve that right, to use magic as a weapon, for the royal family."

"Stop quoting what we already know and get on with it," the king says, impatient, gulping down wine- he knows what Arthur is going to say.

"As it is reserved for those of royal blood, royal blood must be ready to fight, sire. The people demand it of you. I spend my time listening, I know what they're saying in the lower town. Gwenevere-"

"Is a mere servant, son," his father says, warning.

"Gwenevere is the daughter of a blacksmith, sire, and as such you can always test her," Arthur says, remembering the old stories of iron, fire and dragons. He knows the king will know them, too, "she is one of the people who Tristan uses to keep an ear on the outside world, besides. As I was saying, Gwenevere has heard whispers of a group, sorcerers and witches, who want to fight and are feeling the frustration of not being able to. If the crown prince were to enter the tournament of magicks, they would see it as a step on the course to joining magic with the knights' blades, and it would pause the movement towards an underground alliance."

The king takes another sip of wine, eyes boring into Arthur's. Arthur knows what's coming next and his mind runs through all the answers, flicking desperately to come up with one the king will accept.

"You have done more than your duty to my son, Arthur Pendragon. You are, what, twenty three, now?"

"Yes, sire," Arthur says.

"Hmm. You say you listen. To whom do you listen, and how do you know the mood of the lower town? I know my son enjoys the market there, but otherwise he usually strays out of Camelot's walls, towards the forests, not into the town."

All Arthur think to answer is 'I can feel it', and he can't say that. He takes a deep breath and draws together the ragged edges of a lie.

"I stand and listen when Me-the prince goes to the market, and I have friends among the townsfolk, though they are below me in status. They do not know who or what I truly am, they know me only as John," he says.

It's not entirely a lie. When Merlin sneaks out and disguises himself as a commoner, he takes Arthur along as his friend John. But Arthur wouldn't call any of the raucous workers he's met in ale houses his friends, and what he knows from them they don't know he understood.

"Very well. Twenty three, that is far above the age of manhood, and you are still untested in combat," the king says, eyes still on Arthur.

Arthur feels a surge of fear from his father, and quiets him so he doesn't speak.

"My son must go to battle, I understand that," the king continues, "and, as you say, entering the tournament would put that necessity off a few years. I think I shall send you, as squire to Sir Leon, to those skirmishes you spoke of. My son will be under the protection of Tristan and I shall engage Nimueh to protect myself as well as the queen. Very well, it shall be done."

Arthur knows that he can refuse. It is not his duty to ride to war, to take up the post of a knight, but it is appealing. The knights have a better life than shadows, and it would mean being away from politics and Merlin for some time. It might even be enjoyable. Besides which, Camelot is conducting no campaigns at the moment, his role will be in suppressing skirmishes. Nothing too horrific.

"As you wish, sire," he says, and steps back.

"No! No, you can't! You took my wife from me, Balinor, you won't take my son!" Uther stands up, face livid, more animated than Arthur has seen in years.

"I, take your wife and son, Uther?" the king says, mildly.

"You took her. Your pawn, Nimueh, took her, for a quarrel that should have been settled between you and I, as men. Not between women folk, and not my wife who's only wrong had been to give birth to a son who was marked! I won't have you take my son, he is all I have left."

The king stands, and he has enough power of his own as dragonlord to stand taller than his height, eyes flashing. Uther stands his ground, in front of Arthur, broad back and shoulders proud.

"I already took him, Uther Pendragon. Your blood-line belongs to me. He is my son's shadow, nothing but a slave to the old magics, a husk with nothing inside but duty. You lost your son long ago. I will use him, so that I may not lose mine, and you will not stop me. I hereby banish you from Camelot. If you are not gone by sun-up, I will have my soldiers bring you to the dungeons and prepare for your execution."

Arthur stays completely still, but his mind works. He and Merlin have ridden far and wide on missions for the king, visiting foreign dignitaries and crossing many boarders. He knows he can help his father escape and stay safe, he just has to think of a place where he can live well. He feels his father leave, feels his eyes on him, but he has other worries. The king is speaking again, giving orders for his training as a squire, but Arthur shadows himself from even Tristan and slips away.

He runs, once out of Tristan's sight and able to let go a bit, dashing through the stone corridors, down and down, crashing around the spiral staircases, helter-skelter through the people hurrying too and fro, as fast as his legs will take him. He bursts into Gaius's rooms and stands, panting, in front of the old man.

"Sir Tristan?" Gaius asks.

Arthur remembers he's shadowed, and is about to make himself visible when he feels the king's rage. He doesn't know what it's for, but he doesn't want to risk it being for him, and Tristan finding him.

"It is Arthur," he says, breath coming in pants still.

"Arthur!" Gaius says, joyful, and Arthur decides to visit more often.

"My father has been banished, Gaius. I need your help."

"Banished? Uther? Why on earth?"

"He accused the king of killing my mother and suggested the king was trying to get rid of me, too, after the king made me a squire. He's sending me to the boarders. But my father, Gaius! I know that if I write a letter explaining, the kingdom of Gedref will shield him from Balinor. From the king, I mean. The princess Mithian and Merlin have a close relationship, and I have acted as go between. She knows me. And her father is not in agreement with Balinor over certain lands, so he will not object to a banished lord seeking rescue there."

"I can get your father away without the king noticing, that is what you want?"

"I know that you have saved many Druids from the king's wrath. I know that you disagree with Nimueh being so integral a part of the palace. And I know that you think, along with my father, that Nimueh-"

"Don't say it, boy, for heaven's sake!"

"No one can hear. They just think you are talking to yourself, and they think this is a common occurrence. Oh, and your apprentice thinks you're mad as a bat."

"Reading thoughts now, are you?"

"No, but I listen when no one can see. So you will help, then? Shall I go and inform my father he is to go to Ellen the cartwright's wife tonight?"

"Your ears are too large for your own good, Arthur Pendragon. Very well, I will help. In your mother's memory, I will save her husband and for you, I will do it well. Go, inform him."

Arthur goes, racing again through the winding hallways, knocking into a maid and making her shriek with fear at the 'ter'ble wind, sir, it was ter'ble!', dashing out past the pig pens and scattering hens. No one is looking for him, which is a good thing. Either the king was angry with some other lord, or he has forgotten his anger at Arthur.

Arthur comes to his old home and pauses, checking no one's around, before entering. He finds his father sat at the table, head in his hands.

"Father!" he says.

Arthur can allow his father to see him without anyone else being able to, just like he can with Merlin. He hasn't told even Merlin this fact, but Merlin probably knows, because he's nosey and curious about everything. Arthur's father looks at him with despairing eyes.

"My son," he says, reaching out then taking his hand back.

"You must go to the cartwreight's wife this evening as the sun sets. She will help you pass over the boarder without the king's knowledge, and then you must make your way to the princess and give her the letter I will write. You're going to Gedref, and she will help you, too."

"You have so many important friends," his father says, admiringly, "but I will not be going. What would I go for? I have nothing left."

"You have me. The king is wrong- I am no slave. Merlin and I, we might have had our moments that verged on that, but we are friends, father, and I serve him willingly. As he serves me."

"The prince, serve you!"

"In his way, he does. He allows me freedom and he keeps me safe. He is always reading, researching the meaning behind the ink and the magic and the binding. He knows more about magic than even Nimueh. He will make a good king one day, I will be... free, important, I don't know what, yet."

"You will change the world."

"Yes, if you like, we will change the world. But you must go, you must flee. Father, please. You don't want to lose me, well neither do I wish to lose you. I did not get the chance to say goodbye to my mother, I do not want to have to say it you."

"Tell me what to do."

Arthur pulls the seal Gaius slipped to him out of his pocket and presses it into his father's hand, telling him to give it to Ellen. He then demands a pen and paper, and writes a hurried letter to Mithian that identifies him and his father and asks for her help. He leaves again when he's done, sprinting up to Merlin's rooms and slipping in just before the king and Tristan sweep down the corridor outside.

"Merlin! Please, I've been here."

Merlin look up at him from where he's sat on the window, frowning, but before he can question, his father stalks in. Merlin stands and glowers.

"Father, I will enter. I will have my way. I'll disguise myself and run away if I must, but I will-"

"You may enter, Merlin. You may enter the tournament of magicks."

"I can?" Merlin's face lights up, a smile breaking out across it, and beams across at Arthur.

"I have decided that your shadow will, once the tournament has been and gone, join the knights at the boarder."

"What? Why?"

"Because the people wish to see their prince readying for battle- that is one of the preparations that must be made. Arthur must be tested also, and he cannot enter a tournament as he has no magic."

"but... what about-"

"You will be protected by Tristan."

Merlin looks around, looking bewildered. He nods slowly, uncertainly, and Tristan steps forward.

"I will protect you, sire," he says, entirely misreading Merlin's mood, and then he clears his throat, "where is Arthur, by the way?"

Merlin's eyes meet his and Arthur pleads with him.

"He is here, by the window there," Merlin says, pointing.

Tristan, now that he knows where Arthur is, finds him easily and his eyes bore into Arthur's, bright and sharp with glee.

"Has he been gone, sire?" Tristan asks, his voice sly.

"No. He came up shortly after I stormed out and told me nothing. Luke promises to be more forthcoming, but he has not yet returned."

"He's been here only? He hasn't popped out for food or anything else?"

"he's been here," Merlin says, impatiently, "I have been trying to get him to tell me what happened after I left, but he has been reticent saying it was none of his business, so we then talked of birds and my hawk, and he asked if I wished to hunt tomorrow with the party of young nobles going out, and I told him I did not. Are you satisfied, or will you continue to question my word, shadow?"

Arthur manages not to grin, but only just. Merlin being haughty and demanding is something to behold. Arthur can't wait for him to be allowed to show off his true power- that will be something, truly. Tristan looks down and mumbles and apology, stepping back against the wall and turning himself inside. Arthur can still see him, scowling and grimacing, and he's pretty sure Merlin can, too, though he isn't supposed to be able to.

"Well, that is all, son. As you were," the king says and turns.

"Father! I wish to see my mother, please. Will she give me audience?" Merlin says, stopping him.

"I am sure she will. I must be going, Merlin. I shall see you for dinner," the king says, and leaves the room with as much bad temper as he entered it with.

"Did you see Tristan's face!" Merlin crows, turning to Arthur in delight.

"Hush, they will hear," Arthur says.

"Nope. I have used my magic to keep everyone out. You can go off duty, if you like."

This is a new development between them, since Merlin starting going out with the birds; Merlin will use his magic to make a space for them, and Arthur will step out of his role. Merlin says it is so he himself can stop being prince for a space, but Arthur knows it's as much for him as for Merlin. He's got pretty good at staying visible. He sits in one of the chairs at Merlin's table and draws a plate of food toward him.

"So, where have you been, and why did my father come to check if you were here?"

"My father has been banished, and your father wishes to know where he is going so he can... I don't really know what. My father must be gone from Camelot by sun-up, and I have a hunch that your father means the kingdom, not the city, and that is impossible. So I had to sort that."

"It's better if I don't know, then. What about this thing about you being a soldier, now?"

"Oh yeah, that's why my father is banished- he accused the king of killing my mother and trying to get rid of me by making me a soldier."

"But why are you suddenly to be a knight?"

"A squire, actually, to our old friend Leon," Arthur watches Merlin scowl, which is his new reaction to Arthur mentioning Leon, "and it is punishment for pointing out before the entire court that his rule is being undermined by a faction who want magic in the army, only to be appeased by seeing you fight."

"Well, it's true. Gwen says so. Serves him right for being a cow. Now that we are all explained, food."

Arthur laughs, and agrees. He's hungry- treason whets the appetite. He and Merlin eat in silence until Luke slips in, looks around in confusion and is about to leave again. Merlin curses and his eyes flash gold, and Luke starts, spotting them. Merlin's eyes flash again.

"Ah! Sire, you startled me. Must you do that?" Luke says.

"Honestly, you're hopeless. How many times? When you cannot see me and then suddenly I am there, I am not there at all and you must remain silent!"

"It is confusing, sire," Luke says.

"Yes, well. Tell us the order of proceedings."

Luke takes an apple from the table and bites into it, hitching himself to sit half on the table.

"Well, your shadow here made a scene, which was very dramatic, but I assume you know all that?" Merlin nods. "Right. So then there was a boring bit about corn in the East, which we discussed with Lord Teagh last week and should not have been brought before the king. That was brief. Then Sir Gerraint told the king of the latest skirmishes, and the king got angry. Ooh, you should've seen the way 'is eyes flashed, sir! They was like jewels!"

Arthur breathes a sigh of relief. The anger was not directed at him- the king does not know of his aid to his father. He stops listening to Luke's frankly ridiculous re-telling of the court proceedings and focusses on his food.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter Five

Arthur, stood visible at Merlin's shoulder, watches another noble step forwards. This one is tall and grey haired, and grey faced, wearing entirely grey. The Grey Knight, Merlin says quietly, admiringly. The knight's squire steps up and bows, passing over the scrolls to the king's servant, who passes them to Geoffrey, who barely glances at them before nodding.

"The Grey Knight, Sire. Sir Cadfeal."

"Yes, we all remember you, sir. Go ahead," the king says, irritation showing.

The Grey Knight bows respectfully, then raises both arms. The room darkens dramatically, and floating spheres of light pop into existence around the rooms, lighting the awed faces of the lords and ladies of the audience. The globes cluster, making a circle, and in the centre a small scene plays out, gathered from smoke and dust. Two dragons, fighting, roaring, grappling.

"They sleep under the mountain,  
No-kind, not-dragon, sleeping-hills.  
And who shall be brave and kill  
A no-one kind? What gain  
Shall be had from death of no-name?  
That which sleeps beside them- evil-  
shall wake and strike the anvil,  
And nothing will be the same.  
The anvil will wake the dead and he will come!  
But who shall be brave and wake  
a no-one kind, the sleeping hill?  
They sleep on, and prophecy sleeps,  
They sleep under the mountain."

The fighting dragons, during the Grey Knight's recitation, gash and claw and sink, exhausted, into sleep. Dust settles over them, and covers them, building to hills. A grey shape creeps up and the dragons rise, roaring and flaming, and a darker shadow creeps from beneath their wings and sound rings out across the hall. The spheres go out, and then suddenly blaze anew, then dim. The dragons sleep once more and the hills appear.

"You have made your place, sir knight. Withdraw," the king says.

Arthur can feel the anger and pain buzzing around the king and can tell that Tristan is discomfited by it, but Balinor is not his king, and Merlin makes no connection with his own prophecy, and feels nothing but admiration. Arthur only makes a connection because he knows the verse, which is the conclusion of a story where a dragon is named Kilgarrah and Emrys is the man who subdues the two fighting, causing them sleep.

The Grey Knight bows and withdraws. Arthur watches in silence, enjoying the shows, for the next six knights. They're all known, have all fought previous tournaments, and all draw Merlin's wrapt attention and child-like wonder. Sir Elain has just withdraw after a fire show that had Merlin on his feet, when the doors are pushed open, swinging wide.

A cloaked figure stands, hood shadowing his face. Arthur reaches out, but feels no danger from him, no anger. The man stalks down the ails, coming to a halt before the king. He bows, then steps forward to present his own papers. Geoffrey pauses, but shakes his head.

"You are not of my blood, you cannot compete," The king says, already looking to the next contestant.

"Sire, if I may request that your historian look closer at my mother's side?"

Geoffrey looks without the king's direction, but checks he has it before shaking his head again.

"Are you playing games, sir?"

Arthur narrows his eyes, forgetting that everyone can see him, and reaches into the man. There's a certainty there, an arrogance, anger. Nothing dangerous. And nothing to suggest a pretext. He looks deeper, and finds an old pain on the man's wrist. He feels along it, looking for the history, the source, and finds bindings or iron and magic. He frowns and searches for other pains, and finds one on the man's face. He feels along it and finds ink and fire. He is a Druid. Arthur catches his breath.

He's about to tell the king of the danger, but then the stranger looks right at him, eyes bright and intelligent, and Arthur recognises him.

-Hello, Arthur of the Dragons. We meet again-

Years ago, when he was but ten years old and still training with Gerraint, a young Druid boy had been captured. The restraints on this man's wrists, on the boy's wrists, were made by Nimueh to control magic, and the boy was certain to die. He was marked across the face by his people and sent as a message to Balinor.

He had briefly escaped, and found his way to Merlin's chamber, and Arthur had been terrified and curious when he heard the child's voice in his head begging for help. Merlin, only six, had cried and cried his heart out and begged Arthur too. So Arthur had taken the boy to Gaius, and they had promised to help if they could.

He remembers releasing the bonds, using a key that he still doesn't know how Gaius got. He remembers carrying the boy in his arms and running, by passages he hadn't known yet, out to the forest. The boy had promised to repay him.

Mordred, he thinks, and the hood twitches. Arthur turns to Merlin and meets his eyes. Merlin looks surprised, but rises and walks across to Geoffrey.

"May I?" he says, taking the paper, "Geoffrey, is Isabella not my great, great Grandmother?"

"Well, yes, sire, but she is not-"

"Here, above Roderick. the ink is smudged, but you can make it out," Merlin says, pointing imperiously, "perhaps, father, we should look into creating some device to aid Geoffrey's sight? He has served us well and deserves our treatment."

"Well, Geoffrey?" The king says.

"Your son is correct, sire. I apologise, I hadn't noticed this ink before. An oversight."

"Good. Very well, present yourself, sir."

"Mordred, sire. Sir Mordred, of Gedreff."

"Go ahead, get on with it," the king says.

Mordred's hood falls away and Arthur breathes in: the mark is gone. Or charmed invisible. Mordred just does a quick thing with light and water, then withdraws. Arthur breathes a sigh of relief at having him out of harm's way again.

The next contestant, also unknown, steps forward. For a moment, Arthur thinks he has ink on his face, like Mordred. But it's not, it's scarring. The man meets his eyes and Arthur feels flesh burning, peeling away, fire and ice and pain and almost cries out, sweat breaking out all over his body. He steps away from the man and almost stumbles, drawing Merlin's frown down on himself. He can't stop it, though- the burning goes on, and on, pain rippling over his skin.

"Sire!" he gasps, unable to stop himself, "The fire, the fire!"

Merlin jerks and his voice is gone.

"I apologise, father, my shadow has had a fever for the past day or so. I had thought he was recovering," Merlin says, magic feeling around Arthur for harm.

There is none, though. No harm. Just anger and pain and fear from someone else, so strong, so present. Arthur has no idea what is happening, he can usually control this better. He takes deep breaths and meets the man's eyes again, treading the pain and feeling around it, searching deeper and deeper, looking for something. It feels like the man's heart has been burnt up, though.

"Present yourself, sir knight," the king is saying.

"Sir Edwin, sire. Honoured to be here," the man says.

Not a knight, Arthur thinks. Not a knight at all. Something else. He feels deeper around the pain, eyes watering, and underneath it, there's ink. But not on the boy's body. On another body. The boy is burning, the ink is somewhere else. Everything is burning.

Indeed, the throne room is burning, the fire shaping itself into a dragon. The knights know what impresses the king, for sure. Dragons and fire- the king's own weapons. Arthur bites his lip and reaches out, trying to get rid of the pain. He notices the glassy looks on the nobles' faces and realises he's going a bit too far, and pulls it all back.

The man is leaving now, anyway, and the pain is leaving with him. Arthur takes a breath, and it's free from it again, fresh and clear and wonderful. He takes another and another and another, and notices Gaius following the stranger with his eyes, frowning.

"That draws this to a close- the lists will are drawn up! The tournament can begin!"

It won't, of course. Not until after a banquet has been held. Arthur hurries from the room as soon as he can, shadowing himself and making for Gaius's. When he arrives, Gaius is already there, running a finger down the page of a thick binder. He looks up when Arthur enters, turning himself back outwards, and smiles.

"Arthur, my boy. Are you here for a remedy for that fever?"

"No, Gaius, as I have no fever."

"You speak too freely."

"No one is by. That last knight, Sir Edwin. You know him."

"I do not know. His name rings a bell, and the scar is familiar. As, by the way, was the previous knight."

"Yes, well. I liked the boy, what can I say? This other, though. He feels like nothing I've ever come across. It's like he's empty inside. There's a small boy, and ink, and the Druids, and fire. Pain, fear and more pain, and that's it."

"Yes. If he is who I think he is, I would not be surprised."

"Is he here for something from the king?"

"Oh, no. It was not Balinor who harmed him. Do not worry about that, for now. I will do some research."

Arthur nods and sits on one of the benches, keeping Gaius company for a while.

The next evening he is dressing Merlin for the banquet, having dismissed Luke for this purpose, when Merlin's eyes flash gold and Arthur knows they are alone. He ties Merlin's shirt and reaches for his cloak, but Merlin stills him.

"How far can I go, Arthur?"

"What's that, sire?"

"My magic. How much, how far, how good. I know you can tell when I go beyond."

Arthur nods and picks up the cloak, draping it over Merlin's shoulders.

"You are so much like the boy I used to dress, sometimes, Merlin," he says quietly, cinching the cloak with the broach of Merlin's coat of arms, "and now you are entering a tournament of magicks, and we are no longer playing. You go as far, use as much and be as good as you can, okay? You keep yourself safe. Do not let them hurt you. No matter what."

"But if I can do it without all that?"

"Speak your spells, sire. Use the elements. Do not call down storms and lightning, do not..." Arthur considers, trying to think about how Merlin accesses the deep magic within him, "do not use your heart, sire."

Merlin blushes, and Arthur knows Merlin knows what he means. Merlin calls upon feeling to aid him, for that magic that should not be at his fingertips. Though he has only brushed upon his true power yet. Arthur places the crown on Merlin's head and steps back, bowing low.

"Since when have you bowed to me?"

Arthur stays bowed, taking a knee.

"My king," he says.

Merlin's eyes bore into him, but Arthur doesn't take it back. He does not respect Balinor, but Merlin is someone he trusts to lead them. He waits.

"Very well, then, my friend," Merlin says.

Arthur rises and grins, slapping Merlin on the shoulder.

"Go get them, sire. I expect you to charm the ladies tonight," he says.

"And you? Are you on duty?"

"Not with you. I am to train with Leon and the knights tomorrow, and tonight I have an evening free."

"Which you will spend with Leon."

"Which I will spend with Leon, indeed. And the knights, in the great hall, watching you, sire."

"And Mordred."

"And I will watch Sir Mordred, when I can spare a moment. He intrigues me. I feel he will be helpful in the future, if you ever need friends with the Druid people."

"And Sir Edwin? What do you feel about him?"

"If you are able, stay a great distance from him. That is what I feel. Now, you will be late, so go!"

Merlin goes, and doesn't look back. Arthur feels his eyes on him all evening, though, boring into him, and glaring at Leon.

**

The crowd gasps and rises, but Arthur doesn't bother. He can see what they can't- while Merlin's opponent is busy advancing on him, while he is busy casting, Merlin's waiting. He has a plan, a trap. Arthur smiles. There's another gasp and some screams as fire engulfs the prince, but Arthur can't feel any heat, so he's not worried. He waits, still.

The crowd is on it's feet, but they've gone silent and still. The sound of Merlin's opponent taking a step is loud, the sound of the fire crackling buzzes like a background hum. Balinor is on his feet, hand stretched out, and Arthur can feel the old power stirring within him in defence of his son. The king knows better than to interrupt the tournament, though. The queen is not watching, refusing to come out for the show. Arthur can feel her gaze from the palace, but she can't see.

There's utter stillness.

And then the flames rise higher, burning blue, and gold, molten, bright in the sun, sun that cements the blue tongues of flame, that fall in a shattering cascade. Merlin is revealed, pale, stood arms at his sides and eyes closed. The gold becomes part of the air and Merlin opens his eyes, where the gold is reflected, and his opponent goes flying backwards. Merlin raises his arms and small knives pin the fallen knight.

The crowd goes wild, screaming and cheering their prince, voices hoarse, laughter and hysteria rising. The king sits and nods, smiling proudly at his son. Merlin grins his enormous grin and goes to free Sir Alator, offering him a hand up and a few words before stepping to the centre, Alator's broach in his grasp, to raise his hand in victory and acknowledge the screaming audience.

**

Merlin circles the Grey Knight, his hands loose and empty where the knight's are up and full of fire, Merlin's eyes never leaving the knight. He dodges the first spell, the first flash of fire, and then he raises the dust, calling up a wind that turns to a tornado, licking up dust and debris. The Grey Knight looks surprised, but then throws his arm out. The fire dies at his finger tips, and the tornado slows.

The crowd moans in disappointment when Merlin's tornado dies, but Merlin's busy taking advantage of the Grey Knight's focus being on the tornado, his eyes glow gold and the Grey Knight is thrown. He lands on his feet, stumbles, raises and hand and the ground between them opens with a crack, leaving Merlin on the edge, teetering. Merlin throws his arms towards the knight, as if begging for help, and sharp shards of light are flung into his face, clustering around his eyes.

Merlin is about to seal the tear in the earth, but Arthur presses on his mind warningly, knowing that the Grey Knight used powerful magic and that healing it should be beyond Merlin's power. Instead he makes it rain, briefly, and uses the water to bind the Grey knight, strands of water flowing over his body. He stills and Merlin's victory is secure.

**

Arthur tenses when Edwin steps into the ring. He's facing Mordred, though, not Merlin, and he plays fair. Arthur's glad when Mordred looks about to win, calling forth wind and fire and encircling Edwin, taking his voice. The crowd rises, cheering, but then Edwin shakes a hand out of his long robe, opening his fingers to let water trickle out.

There's a silence, and then Mordred puts back his head and holds out his hands, opening his mouth. A sound fills the stadium, calling, longing, notes of a song that is more than music. Light and fire and life swell the sounds and the audience sways. The notes lower, soothing, cooing, humming, and Edwin falls to his knees, water drying up.

The flames burn higher, dancing in time to the song that rises and rises, stirring, swallowing the air the audience is breathing. The bodies, packed together to cheer their prince on, sway as one, some falling.

Arthur shuts his eyes against the swell of emotion from the crowd and, trying to push it out, to stay sane, he focuses on the song. Gold and red and sunlight fill his head, and he's breathing something thick. He can taste the notes, the beauty and joy of them, the unfulfilled hope just waiting within them, a mother's call at seeing her child, the river on a hot day, Merlin. He tastes everything, feels everything, the sound ringing through him.

He opens his eyes and the singing stops, Mordred's eyes meeting his, head coming down, fire dying. Arthur, still caught, holds Mordred's gaze and can't move.

-Arthur Pendragon, your eyes are silver-

Arthur hears it in his head and smiles, joy swelling within him, so much happiness and bright, bright sunshine. Mordred holds out a hand and the swelling stops, the notes cascading through him retreat, the joy ebbs and he's left with a headache, eyes dry and sore, mouth feeling stuffed with fabric. He staggers away from the tournament ground, looking for Gaius.

**

Arthur takes Merlin's cloak and brushes the dust from it, fingering the rich material. He's hoping Merlin orders dinner soon, he's hungry.

“Only two matches today, for me,” Merlin says, turning to him.

Ten knights, each facing two opponents, have the chance to win four points- two for each round. Anyone winning four makes it through to the second bout, where they all face one another.

“Mordred made it through.”

“Mm,” Merlin says, uninterested.

Arthur sighs and goes to call for Merlin's man servant, giving up on the hope of a good dinner. Merlin lets him go, standing thoughtfully by the window. Arthur eats with the knights, knowing that Leon will be there. They're friends, now, Leon finding himself in the position of his family wanting him to marry and working towards that. Arthur still hasn't told Merlin about that, secretly enjoying Merlin's jealousy.

He and Leon sit on the tournament ground, later, watching Nimueh knit the ground back together, and talk quietly about the campaign and Arthur's training. Leon tells Arthur stories, and answers all his questions, stirring excitement for adventure in Arthur's heart. He tells him serious stories as well, and let's him know the danger, but it doesn't phase Arthur. He's going to be a knight.

He sleeps with the door between his and Merlin's room ajar, as he has since he moved here, and hears the reassuring sound of him breathing, and wonders if Merlin knows that they'll be apart again after this tournament.

**

Merlin whirls, almost dancing, laughing, dodging the fire, light, and knives that his opponent is throwing his way. The air whirls with him and the dust around his feet jumps and skips. Coming to rest across the field, Merlin jumps to avoid the last of the blades and they thud into the wood behind him.

His opponent pauses, adjusting his attack, and Merlin's eyes glow gold, power pulsing out from him and throwing the knight to the ground. Merlin uses rope, this time, to keep his opponent down, and the crowd goes wild, roaring their approval of their prince. Arthur casts his eyes around, looking and feeling for the men and women he knows will be watching. He finds them- solemn, sure, watchful men and women- and marks them, but lets them watch.

Let them all see what Merlin can do, without breaking a sweat.

**

Arthur is unhappy when Merlin faces Mordred.

-I won't hurt your king, Arthur Pendragon. He is the hope of my people-

Arthur hears it, but is still unhappy. He doesn't want Merlin or Mordred hurt. It's one of the longer battles, Mordred and Merlin pushing each other with the elements, cycling through them several times, then turning to dust and wind and light. Arthur can feel a thrill in Merlin at really being challenged, and warns him again of the danger of showing off his true power with a press against his mind.

Merlin meets his eyes and nods, then creates a dragon out of the audience's flags and banners, fabric swirling through the crowd and attacking Mordred, fire pouring over the body of the cloth-beast. The crowd laughs as their drab, colourless garments mixed with the bright coloured flags, and Mordred explodes it, fabric tatters floating down like rain.

Mordred tries the singing thing again and Arthur closes his ears to it, focussing on his father's heartbeat, which he found for himself soon after his father's exodus, and Merlin makes it rain harder and harder until the thump of the water hitting the ground drowns the sound out and Mordred bends under the pressure of it.

Merlin pulls the tatters together once more and the dragon flies at Mordred, but Merlin undoes the magic just as Mordred is going to undo it with a blast, and re-unites the fabric as rope, which ties Mordred's wrists. Then the water from the rain rushes up to a river and takes Mordred to the floor, where he lies, tied, defeated.

But unharmed.

**

Arthur wanders from the stadium with Gwen, Merlin busy with his father, and one of the knights Leon trains with by the name of Lancelot.

“My father will be home, he is allowed to stay away from the forge for the tourny, and we can eat bread, there,” Gwen says.

They're debating their options for the mid-day meal, Lancelot advocating the knights' barracks, Gwen advocating somewhere, anywhere but there. Arthur keeps out of it, watching his two friends as if from afar, thinking of Mordred.

“Arthur! You must decide, we cannot agree on anything except our disagreement,” Lancelot says, sounding happy.

He's been arguing for the sake of it, bickering with Gwenevere because he thinks it will endear him to her. Arthur rolls his eyes and takes the road that will take them to Tom's house, not bothering to speak.

Arthur eats with them, listening willingly to Tom's stories about the knights competing, their armour and their honour and their history. Tom listens carefully to everything, so he has some good stories. When he's done, though, Arthur excuses himself to return to Merlin, leaving Tom to escort his daughter in the company of Lancelot.

Arthur's only met Lancelot a few times, drinking with Leon and once or twice at training, but he knows the man is honourable though poor, knightly though not of noble birth, with a good head on his shoulders but occasionally impetuous. Arthur thinks Merlin would like him.

He's a shadow, and he's been a bodyguard since before he could properly run, so he doesn't so much miss the person tailing him as skim over him. He's used to being alert to danger for Merlin, not himself, so the quiet stealth and anger doesn't blip his radar. But that doesn't mean, when Edwin slips out of a shadow and keeps step with him, that Arthur misses the fact that Edwin's been following him or that he's wished harm by this man.

“Sir Edwin, can I help you? Are you lost?” He asks, calmly, keeping his pace even and his thoughts carefully hidden.

The man has a lot of magic, but it feels different to Merlin's magic. Different to any magic. It's a little like when Gaius casts a spell- perhaps learnt or somehow aided, unnatural.

“I was looking for you. I knew your mother.”

“A lot of people did. She was of high birth, married to a lord, and she was generous with her time and money. How are you connected to her?” Arthur asks mildly, catching, briefly, his father's heartbeat.

“I knew her through my father.”

“Who was your father?” Arthur asks, and he notices the flare of something inside Edwin.

Not someone Arthur can know about, then.

“It does not matter, it is not why I sought you.”

“Why, then, did you seek me?”

They're nearing the tournament ground now and Arthur's relieved, though he keeps it to himself.

“I wished to send the prince my regards, and hoped you might find your way to getting an audience with him. In the name of old family ties.”

“I don't have that kind of power, Sir Edwin. If you'll excuse me?”

“but of course.”

Arthur strides away. He has no idea what Edwin wanted, but he's pretty sure it was not an audience with Merlin.

**

“Arthur!”

Arthur looks down the stand and sees Gaius. He looks at the field, at Merlin and his opponent. Merlin's doing well, so Arthur leaves him and hurries down the row of dignitaries to Gaius.

“Well?” He says.

“I did as you asked, though it's more than my job's worth, getting those scrolls is highly illegal. Only the king and Geoffrey are supposed to see them.”

“And?”

Gaius huffs at Arthur's unconcern for his safety, but Arthur's too impatient.

“And, you were right- Edwin's father-”

“Not here, Gaius. Come.”

Arthur strides away, Gaius on his heels muttering about young legs and unconcern for their elders. Arthur stops between the palace and the tournament field, searching the area and waiting for Gaius to catch up.

“No one's here, Gaius. Who is he?”

“His name is Edwin Muirden, and his parents are- were Druids, living in Camelot. Your father turned them in and advocated burning as their sentence. Edwin tried to save his parents. The king usually granted banishment over burning, but your father was persuasive.”

“Why? Why did my father want them burnt?” Arthur says, reaching for his father across the space.

He can feel him, now, not just his heartbeat. He can feel the thoughts and feelings as if his father still lives in the city. It's disconcerting.

“Your father often did so, Arthur. When you were born- We should do this elsewhere.”

“Tell me.”

“Your mother was barren. I examined her and made the diagnosis- Lady Ygraine could not have children.”

“So where did I come from?”

“Your father went to Nimueh and she used an old magic to help.”

“But, Gaius. You know the old magic. A life for a life. Who did I take my life from?”

“Nimueh believed she could balance the scales, if your father let her take your mother's life for yours, she said she could balance it so that your mother lived.”

“My- my mother. I killed her?”

“No, Arthur,” Gaius sighs and looks around, guiding Arthur to sit on a stone by the path, “no. Your mother knew the risks, she did it anyway. She knew better than your father. When she first became ill, when you were still very young, your father went to Nimueh. When she refused to help him a second time, he went to the Druids. I believe that they told him what was true- that your mother would die. Slowly or quickly, she was dying. That was how Nimueh balanced things, she made it so your mother was dying, instead of dead. I believe the people your father spoke to are the same he turned in and had burnt.”

“My father.”

“I'm sorry. He loved your mother deeply, almost obsessively. Since she died he's been a different person, a better person. He loves you more purely, and he strives to be equal to that love.”

“He burnt them. The people who tried to help him.”

“He did,” Gaius turns, startled, but Arthur had felt Edwin coming and doesn't move, “he did, and now I will take a tooth for a tooth. He took those most dear to me, now I will take that most dear to him. That's yourself, shadow.”

“Your parents were good people and didn't deserve to die, I remember them,” Gaius says.

“Yes, they were your friends and you did nothing. I'm glad you are here too, Gaius. It saves me doing this twice.”

Arthur prepares himself to spring, but his heart's not in it.

“Take me, not Arthur. He's young.”

“Yes, he is, isn't he? Ah well, so was I. And no, I will not take you. Uther cares nothing for an old physician. No one cares about you, Gaius. Arthur, on the other hand... that will pain all who did me wrong. Don't bother, shadow. I know the stories, of you weakening my magic, but no one is close to help, are they?”

Arthur sighs. He can fear Gaius's fear and compassion, Edwin's rage, and far away he can feel Merlin and his father. He stands and, keeping his back to Edwin, focuses on Edwin's rage, then follows it to his magic. It's dark magic, black and painful, but Arthur engulfs it. He can feel his ink itching. Edwin murmurs and pain and fire flash through the tattoo across his back. Not so painful as last time, though.

He can feel Merlin realise he's not there and reach for him, then Merlin's magic is soothing and cool against the burning.

“What? Why...” Edwin says, trying again.

Arthur can feel Gaius's fear, still, but now Gaius is afraid of him. He turns and faces Edwin.

“You know nothing of my father, and still less of me. I am no shadow, you fool,” he says, reaching into Edwin and smothering the fire of his anger.

It's frighteningly easy to find Edwin's heart, the centre of his being, and snuff it. Perhaps because Edwin is entirely anger, perhaps for other reasons too difficult to think of. He can still feel Merlin's cooling magic at his back and in his mind, and Gaius's fear mixed with awe. He's tired, so he doesn't bother to do much to Edwin, just presses into his mind until Edwin screams with pain, then he pulls back and a rope appears, from Merlin, so Arthur binds him and tears his sleeve to make a gag.

“What shall we do with him, Gaius? We could tell the king he was a threat to the prince,” Arthur says, turning to his old teacher.

Gaius steps away from him, still afraid, and Arthur feels a pang of sadness. Whether it's his own or Gaius's he's not sure.

“I'll turn him over to the Druids. Arthur....” Gaius says, stepping closer again, “your eyes.”

Gaius touches his face and Arthur's relieved that the fear is gone, leaving curiosity and awe.

“My eyes?”

“They went silver,” Gaius says, repeating Mordred.

“Oh. I thought that was just Mordred. Huh.”

“You're right- you're no shadow. What are you?”

“Something new. And nothing the king can know of, do I have your word?”

“Of course. The prince-”

“ _My_ king knows,” Arthur says, “people are coming. Can you take him?”

“Yes, go on.”

Arthur nods and leaves without looking back, hurrying to catch the end of Merlin's duel, a light display of fire, explosions and gold. When his opponent is pinned Merlin's eyes search him out and Arthur nods to let him know everything is sorted.

**

The final duel is between Merlin and Sir Morgan, an untested knight but the son of an old tournament champion. Arthur sits with the knights, Lancelot at his side (who can't seem to look away from Gwenevere) and half listens to Leon's commentary about sir Morgan's previous bouts which he missed.

The duel begins slowly, the two opponents tossing one another across the field. Morgan's magic is deep, as deep as Nimueh's, and Arthur searches his... Arthur laughs shortly, surprised and delighted. Sir Morgan looks up and meets his eyes so Arthur quickly turns his thoughts inwards again, but his amusement has been noted.

Sir Morgan calls millions of tiny dragons from the wood of the stands and hurls them at Merlin, turning away from Arthur, and Merlin turns them into golden butterflies, sending them flitting through the crowd, wooing all the women and some of the men in a single gesture, before pulling Morgan close and then pushing.

Arthur presses warningly, letting Merlin know that this is the end of his power. Merlin makes it rain in irritation, and Arthur's pretty sure he's not the only one notices that while more of the audience remains dry, he himself gets soaked.

“What did you do to piss off the prince, Arthur?” Leon says, amused.

Not the only one who noticed, then.

“I had his best interests at heart,” he says, smugly, and Leon laughs harder.

“Right,” he says.

The rain turns to light and flies at Merlin, but Merlin just dances out of the way, laughing, and tips his head back. Sound, like Mordred's singing, fills the stadium, playing off the rain, bouncing and glimmering. Arthur can't fade it out, coming from Merlin, and he feels it rise within him, joy and fear and beauty, but Morgan seems to be able to stand it. Or to remain standing, at least. Arthur's still fuzzy with it, and he knows the knights are staring at his eyes, when Merlin reaches out and sends a sharp shock through the ground. Morgan topples, and falls, and the music ends.

Merlin pins his opponent with knives and takes the badge, going to receive his cheers and roars from the crowd as the king steps into the ring to congratulate his new champion. Arthur scrambles to his feet.

“Arthur, your eyes went silver,” Lancelot says.

“Yes, yes, I know. It's something about that singing thing they've been doing. It's Druid magic, you know, and deep. It connects with my mark,” he says, impatient to get away and tell Merlin the joke.

The knights let him go and he bounds down, meeting Merlin as he retires. Arthur hurries on his heels to his tent and then 'whoop's, slapping Merlin on the back.

“You did it!” He says, grinning, and Merlin grins right back.

“I did it.”

“Do you know who your last competitor was?” Arthur asks, geeful.

“Sir Morgan, son of Gorlois who was champion ten years ago.”

“Well, yes and no. It is-”

Arthur's cut off by sir Morgan, still wearing the knight's helmet, sweeps in and takes it off. Her hair cascades down her back and Merlin gapes.

“You ruined the punch line, my lady,” Arthur complains, bowing low.

“How did you know, shadow?” She asks, advancing on him.

“My father was close to Gorlois, he told me long ago that Gorlois has one daughter and no sons,” Arthur says, already knowing the answer.

“Damn you. You distracted me!”

“You would not have beaten Merlin, sir Morgan, no matter how sharp your focus.”

“You need not do my boasting for me, Arthur. Sir Morgan, it seems I have been deceived.”

“Morgana, sire, is my true name. I was disappointed when I found that women were not permitted to enter the lists.”

“It is no skin off my nose. If you wish to endanger such beauty, that is your prerogative, my lady,” Merlin says, bowing low and kissing her hand.

Arthur rolls his eyes, and sets about doing Merlin's man servant's job and ignoring his master flirting with the lady. Having seen Luke attempting to drink Sir Cadowyn under the table, he knows these duties will fall to him anyway, so he gets on with it.

Merlin escorts the lady Morgana to the feast later that night.

  
  


 

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: cannon death of Owain, who is sixteen in this

Arthur looks up at the sky, trying to find the stars he and Merlin named all those years ago, lying in Camelot fields, escaped. He can find none of the old shapes, whether because too much time has passed or because he is under an unfamiliar sky, he does not know. He can hear the other squires whispering, laughing, copping off. The knights are mostly still around the fire, he can hear their voices.

They've been out here for a week now, and found no bandits. They're passing through the forest to the boarder of Essetir, and Arthur is slowly learning the life of a knight. There is a lot of marching, then sparring and tussling, and then stories around the fire, taller than those told in Camelot. He's enjoying sleeping outside every night, though the chill is bitter in the early hours when he wakes.

He turns over and catches the eyes of a freckled boy, not much more than sixteen. Owain, Arthur thinks, a squire no longer, yet he still sleeps with them from habit, or for familiarity, or because the knights are cruel. He wears Lady Morgana's favour, Arthur has noticed.

“You knew Gorlois,” he says, now.

“I worked in his household as a lad, and my father's lands border on his” Owain says.

“The lady Morgana?” Arthur asks, indicating the favour with a nod.

Owain blushes to the roots of his hair and ducks his head.

“I did not wish to stand between the prince and... but I have known her long, and her appearance at court necessitated my calling on her,” he says, defensive.

“Merlin is not wooing the lady Morgana, Sir Owain. You are quite safe to do so yourself.”

“She will marry a lot higher than me, sir,” Owain says, blushing harder.

“She's headstrong- she will marry who she wishes. Whether he wishes to or not, I'd wager.”

“Do not speak of her so rashly!”

“Apologies, I meant only-”

“It was rude.”

Arthur shrugs and turns away. The boy is right, though he doesn't want to say it- Morgana will marry above him. Besides, he is far too young. Her favour, then, is given in fondness. Arthur hopes Owain makes it back to her to thank her.

Two days after his conversation with Owain they are set upon by bandits. They haven't reached the fort they are making for and their leader, Sir Cadowyn, curses throughout the fight, mingling curse words from all languages to keep the stream steady. Arthur's too busy using his sword to laugh until the skirmish is over, but then he laughs and laughs.

“Arthur, you're handy with that,” Sir Cadowyn says, pointing to the sword.

Arthur sobers and nods, shrugs.

“I am. I've never done more than spar with it, before. I usually use... other methods.”

Sir Cadowyn nods, eyes thoughtful. That night, sitting around the fire, Arthur is given a space with the knights, not the squires, and he gets a full bowl of stew. Sir Lancelot smiles at him and nudges him in congratulations, and Arthur smiles back. Lancelot is beautiful, and this is not Camelot. Arthur is friends with Gwen, but she would understand.

They make the fort after ten days travelling, and are greeted with cheering and joy from weary looking soldiers. Arthur counts six wounded among the twelve on duty, and is worried to hear the man in charge of the fort, Sir Ranulf, tell Sir Cadowyn that there are a further six badly wounded and that they have lost ten men.

Arthur slips away and goes to find himself a place to sleep with the other squires. Sir Owain is now sleeping with the knights, having killed one of the bandits and earnt some respect. That night they sit around the fire with the men from the fort and listen to stories about sorcerers and daring attacks and weary, long battles. Arthur feels a thrill of fear, being so close to the battles spoken of. He automatically reaches for Merlin, and frowns.

“Arthur? If you are as thoughtful as you look, I am afraid for our safety. You know you should never think too hard, it's bad for weak brains,” Leon says, shoving a strange knight aside and sitting by him.

“Shh,” Arthur says, putting his hand on Leon's arm, concentrating on Merlin.

He's upset, hurt by something. Arthur feels deeper to see if it's physical or not, but can't tell. The distance and the unfamiliarity of his surroundings, the amount of emotional people close by, is too much. He tries harder, feeling, reaching, but all of a sudden there's a thrill of terror and misery. He looks up, sharp, and sees a knight standing in the doorway. Bloody, skin torn, the knight totters forwards a step.

Arthur leaps to his feet and runs to him, followed by the others, and they reach out to steady the new comer.

“Sir Pellinor,” says someone.

“Pell!” says another.

Arthur feels faint from the fear surrounding him and nausea over takes him, but he's pretty certain the latter is Sir Pellinor's. Arthur steps aside and holds the knight steady, and so it is sir Lancelot who gets vomited on. A titter of laughter goes around and the fear lessens.

“Where is Gareth?” Arthur asks, looking around for Gaius's apprentice, who they've brought with them, reaching with his mind as well.

“With the sick,” Sir Ranulf says, “Let's take Sir Pellinor to him.”

Arthur nods. He likes Sir Ranulf- the knight stayed with them once, when Arthur still lived with his parents, home injured from a campaign. Ranulf had played with him like no one else would, because no one was allowed to play with the shadow. Arthur nods, automatically feeling for Ranulf inside. Ranulf is afraid, but steady, and it steadies Arthur. They make their way through the gathered knights, each with a bloody arm over their shoulders.

“Somebody clean that up,” Ranulf calls over his shoulder, “and I shall be angry if I find you left it to your squires.”

Gareth is waiting, alerted by one of the squires, and has a table clear. The room stinks of rotting flesh and Arthur knows that it is almost certain that anyone who comes in here will die. The flesh rot seems to spread when it takes hold, and once it sets in, it is rare for a person to recover. Gareth is wide eyed and out of his depth, but he sees to Sir Pellinor's injuries with a steady hand and clear eyes.

“He is not badly harmed,” he tells Ranulf when he is done.

Arthur, having helped Gareth, stays to listen.

“Why is he not speaking?” Ranulf asks.

“He is exhausted, his strength depleted. I would have him lie elsewhere to recover, sir. The air here is unhealthy.”

Ranulf nods and strides away, pausing at the door and looking back.

“He can have my quarters. I'll send Lancelot down to help you move him, Arthur. Stay with him, and see if you can make him speak. We need to know what has happened to him.”

Arthur meets Ranulf's gaze and knows that the old knight suspects something of his power. Arthur nods and waits for Lancelot, helping Gareth asses the other knights.

“I can't help them, Arthur. I don't have the skill to heal this,” Gareth says in helpless despair, away from the groaning patients, cleaning their hands of blood and puss.

“The flesh rot?” Arthur asks, knowing the answer.

“Even Gaius has no remedy and no answers. All I can do is use my poppy remedy to make their passing easier, but I'd rather keep that. If we have a battle....”

Arthur knows. He's seen battle wounds before, he knows that sometimes to treat them the patient must be still and not writhing in agony.

“What about the draught Gaius gives to the old, to aid their passing?” Arthur asks.

“I brought none, and do not have the ingredients. I think I could make it, if I had the right herbs, but I cannot take the time to go find them.”

“Write them down for me, I will do what I can. Write it twice and give it to Sir Ranulf, tell him. He's a good man.”

“Good enough for this?”

Arthur hesitates; good enough to let a healer kill his men? Arthur remembers a big, strong, stubborn man who was kind and diligent, but would he believe this was the only hope?

“I cannot go behind his back,” Arthur says, instead of answering.

Gareth nods, and Lancelot walks through the door before they can talk further. Gareth hurriedly pulls out a pen and paper and he writes as Lancelot and Arthur prepare to carry Sir Pellinor with a blanket and the help of two squires, barely thirteen years old. Gareth presses the paper into his hand, ink still wet, before he leaves.

The squires leave, but Lancelot stays in Ranulf's quarters, showing no signs of going after them. Arthur sits by Sir Pellinor and waits.

“Arthur?” Lancelot says, from the window.

“Yes?”

“I have lived among the Druids and know the stories. I know why your eyes turned silver.”

Arthur feels a shudder of panic, but then a deep calm.

“That makes one of us, then,” he says.

“You're an empath. You can make Pellinor talk.”

“Maybe.”

“I won't tell anyone.”

“If you do, I will take Gwenevere from you,” Arthur says, still calm.

Lancelot sucks in a breath, but nods. They understand one another. Arthur reaches into Pellinor's mind, taking his hand to aid the connection, and finds the deepest terrors. There's a gap, a tear, in here, and Arthur fills it with calm. He pours calm and soothing into the knight. He sits for as long as he thinks it wise to wait, then pulls away.

“Can you wake him?” Lancelot asks.

Arthur reaches out and pats the knight's cheek, pale even with his dark skin. Pellinor stirs.

“Sir Pellinor. Wake up,” he says.

“I know your voice,” Pellinor says, not opening his eyes, face turning towards Arthur, “I heard it inside me.”

“Tell me, then. Tell me what happened to you.”

“I was on duty,” Pellinor says, as if in a trance, “I had drawn the short straw and was manning a post three leagues from the fort. I had my squire with me, but no one else. We were supposed to ride back if we saw anything, but we didn't have time. They had a sorcerer and he found us somehow, and they were upon us. My squire is dead. I escaped, by the sorcerer put some charm on me and the woods were strange, full of noises, and there were faces.”  
Arthur can feel terror flooding Pellinor and he reaches out, soothing, the way he used to sooth Merlin after bad dreams. Pellinor stills under his ministrations, calming.

“How many?”

“Ten only, but it matters not. They have a sorcerer and we have no protection against magic.”

“You have me, now, Sir Pellinor. Do you believe that?”

“I believe that, sir.”

“Do you believe that I can fight him?”

“I believe that, sir.”

“Then you may rest easy. But first, tell us where they were coming from and as much as you can as to their plans.”

“From the east. They know the fort has a weakness there, to allow water in. The sorcerer showed me a vision of the wall exploding. They were going to ambush us. I got back here first, but I cannot work out why. Perhaps they were gathering more men.”

“That's enough. You may rest, now.”

Pellinor drifts deeper into sleep, and Arthur looks up, removing his hand from where it strayed to the knigth's forehead. Lancelot is staring at him, eyes wide.

“Did my eyes turn silver?” Arthur asks, touching his own face.

“No. But I've never seen you take command like that. I've only seen you as a shadow, as a slave.”

“I am not a shadow. Not the way you know it. I have to go tell Ranulf.”

“Sit with me, later. At the fire.”

Arthur nods, knowing what Lancelot is asking. He runs through the fort, following his instinct to Ranulf, and finds him with sir Cadowyn in a guardroom. There is another with them, but Arthur is suddenly wrenched away, Merlin calling him. He freezes.

He reaches out, feeling his way through the fog of desperate men around him, looking for Merlin's familiar mind. He finds it, and again is faced with upset and hurt. He reaches deeper, but it's too far, too much of a stretch.

-Arthur-

Mordred?

-It is I, Mordred. This is hard, so I will be brief. Merlin is hurt, but not badly. The Grey Knight had turned to the Druids and outstayed his welcome here, Tristan interfered before the prince was badly injured and Nimueh took the Grey Knight's life. I am in danger, so I am leaving and heading north, I will try to find you. I have a message from the prince.-

“Arthur, Arthur! Should we send for Gareth?”

“Move, he knows me. Arthur, come on. Remember me? It's Elyan.”

Arthur snaps back, pulling away, and finds himself nose to nose with Elyan. He smiles and pulls him into a hug, laughing with joy.

“Elyan! What are you doing here? Your sister and father are worried sick about you, you reprobate!”

“I'm a knight, Arthur. Let me go you loon,” Elyan says, laughing too, so Arthur lets go, leaving only a hand on Elyan's shoulder.

“You've grown,” he says.

“It's been four years and I was fifteen when we last met. It's hardly surprising that I've grown.”

“It is very good to see you. A knight, you say?”

“when the law changed, allowing commoners to sign up, I did so. And here I am.”

“I-”

“You two can catch up later, have you got anywhere with Sir Pellinor, Arthur?” Ranulf cuts in.

“Yes, sorry, that's why I came, but the prince is injured- the prince,” Arthur stops again, reaching.

“You can't do anything from here, not for the prince. You can help us, though. Arthur!” Ranulf says, impatient.

“Sorry, yes, sorry. Pellinor says there are ten men, one a sorcerer. He was put under a spell, which is why he was afraid, but I don't think it worked because he found his way back here and his mind wasn't completely broken, which means the sorcerer isn't powerful. Though, he can't say how he got back here first.”

“Elyan was telling us about that. He was watching a band of six men, no sorcerers, who were joined by ten. He rode back here to report. They're heading this way, now.”

“They know about the weakness to let the stream in,” Arthur says, “and are coming from the east. They mean to ambush us. I suggest that you send a small party down to guard the weakness, as a show, and put myself among them. When we are ambushed, I can take out the sorcerer, and you can ambush the ambush.”

“You can take out the sorcerer?” Ranulf asks.

“Yes. I can. If he is not powerful, my mark will take his power. If I can get hold of him, and I believe I can, I can subdue his magic.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” Arthur says, meeting his eyes.

“Very well, we will prepare a plan. You may leave us. Sir Elyan, sound the alarm, men to their posts.”

Arthur leaves with Elyan, but they don't have time to talk. As soon as the men have taken up their posts, Arthur included, Sir Ranulf calls them all to the hall and issues their orders.

“Sir Leon, Arthur, Sir Elyan, sir Owain, Sir Loholt, Sir Branwen. Sir Cadowyn will be holding the wall. Sir Alain, Sir Allowyn, Sir Godwyn, Sir Rolland,” the lists of names goes on and Arthur notices that the wounded men are set behind the wall to keep out anyone who gets through the ambush, the young, untested knights are put among the seasoned men and that the squires younger than fifteen are kept within the fort as runners and to help Gareth. His esteem for Sir Ranulf rises.

Out on their posts, standing in the cold, the tension is deep. Sir Cadowyn rubs and claps his hands, stamps him feet and gossips, like a man on duty, but the others are quieter than they should be. Arthur stands between Lancelot and Leon, hand on his sword, and reaches out into the night, ignoring the pulsing call to reach for Merlin. He can feel the band coming, and they are quick and stealthy. He tenses.

“I have a girl back home,” Lancelot says, Arthur can only assume he's talking to Cadowyn as Owain, himself and Leon have heard it a million times, “dark eyes and hair, beautiful as they come. I like the way she says my name. I miss her smile. She's beautiful, but she's spirited and makes me laugh.”

“I have a girl,” sir Owain says, and Arthur realises it's more to stem the tension, because he's heard this before, too, “she's the most beautiful in the land, and far too high for the likes of me. She's so kind and generous, and she makes me happy. I want to marry her one day, but I am only sixteen. I have to wait until I have proved myself as a knight to ask her. I know she'll wait, because she loves me.”

Arthur keeps his mouth shut, not wanting to take that away from Owain. Let him believe it.

“I have a girl I'm going to marry,” Leon says, “You all know her. Lady Mary Caradoc. She's already said yes, and she says when I return we can set a date.”

Arthur feels it hurt, even though it's been months since he lay with Leon, and he already knows about Lady Mary of the bluest eyes and palest cheek. It still hurts, because he had let himself be fond of Leon, even while he knew he should not have been.

“What about you, Arthur?” Owain says, and Leon looks away, guilt in his eyes.

“Me?” Arthur says, “I have no girl, I marry at my king's wish.”

“The king has no one in mind?” Sir Cadowyn asks.

Arthur smiles, glad that he missed the distinction of 'my' king, that he thinks Arthur means Balinor, not Merlin.

“As you say, he has no one in mind,” Arthur says, “what about you, sir?”

“I leave behind a wife and two little ones. My youngest is only three, and may forget my face if I am away too long.”

“Never,” Arthur says, “three is old enough to remember your father. Perhaps not his face, but he'll remember the rest, he'll remember enough.”

“Yes,” Sir Cadowyn says, and goes on, but Arthur can feel them.

“They're here,” he whispers.

Cadowyn keeps talking, telling them about his youngest's first steps, but they all have their hands on their swords. There's a moment when Cadowyn's voice, soft and fond, is all that's heard, and then bodies slip from between the trees and are on them. There's a rush of people and cries and voices, the clash of swords and the ring of swords on armour. Arthur already knows his man. He cuts his way through the throng and meets the sorcerer's sword as it is about to come down on Owain's back. The blade goes right through Arthur's, crashing onto his shoulder and cutting through the armour. Arthur sags, avoiding more damage by letting the weight of the blade down him. The blade is lifted and he leaps to his feet.

The sorcerer's eyes are dim-gold and there's a wind that's coming up, stronger and stronger, and Arthur can hear people screaming in terror. He can't get close enough, so he hopes the battle is heated enough, and reaches for the magic with his thoughts, engulfing it. After that it's surprisingly easy. He gets his arms around the man and the rest of their men attack, rounding up the bandits. Arthur holds on until someone finds a moment to knock the sorcerer out.

He looks around, holding onto the body. There are only four dead, and three of them are bandits, but the forth is Owain. Arthur reaches out, and feels a thread of life in him, but even as he jerks forwards, it leaves, extinguishing like the flame of a candle. Arthur stares at Owain's pale face.

“Arthur, come. Inside,” Leon says, drawing him off.

“We have to bring him in, we have to bury him. His lady, we have to-”

“We will. We will deal with all of them. Come.”

Arthur goes, stumbling. Someone takes the sorcerer and he's left alone, Leon vanishing somewhere. He stumbles to the squires' quarters and sits on his bed roll, mind numb. He reaches for Merlin, wanting the familiar warmth to banish the cold of Owain. He can feel joy from the soldiers, solidarity from Ranulf and nothing where Owain should be. The terror is not so thick, though, and he reaches Merlin. He lies down, holding on to his connection with his king, and closes his eyes against the fort.

He's left like that for what feels like hours, linking with Merlin, feeling along Merlin's hurt and finding the source and reassuring himself that at least the prince is safe, Merlin's soothing magic cooling the hurt in his own mind. He comes back to someone shaking him.

“Wake up, Arthur, come on.”

“Not sleeping,” he says, keeping his eyes closed in case they're silver- Merlin is so far away, Arthur has no idea how much power it takes to link like this.

“Okay. Come, we're holding a vigil for the dead.”

Arthur sits up and opens his eyes, recognising Lancelot's voice. Lancelot smiles at him, eyes sad.

“I'll come,” he says, absently, “I felt him die.”

“Really? That's awful.”

“I've felt it before. Did I project? When my mother died, apparently the whole kingdom felt my grief.”

“We were told it was the prince's magic.”

“Mm. Merlin is a good king.”

“He is yet only prince, that is almost treason.”

“It's lucky there's no one to hear, then,” Arthur says, standing and stretching, “The prince is fine. He dislocated his shoulder and singed his eyebrows. The eyebrows thing was done with his own magic, so I have no idea what he was doing. He's useless.”

“Also treasonous.”

“Gwen's brother is here. Gwen wishes him to be home.”

“She may be very grateful to the man who brings him back?”

“Exactly.”

Lancelot smiles and Arthur sighs. It is better, this way. It is better to think of these things than to think of Owain.

“You have never lost someone in battle?” Lancelot asks.

“I have never been to battle,” Arthur replies, following Lancelot through to the hall.

They take candles and light them, joining the crowd.

“You do not show it,” Lancelot says, then manoeuvres until he's standing by Elyan, smiling back at Arthur.

Arthur says a prayer for Owain and stands still, waiting for morning.

There are several attacks like the first, all fairly small affairs, relying on sorcerers to win, and Arthur becomes adept at hugging people. Ranulf interrogates each new party and sends to Camelot for a party to escort the prisoners to the city, but none of them can tell much. They aren't working together and they're working for small, petty criminals. Yet they come so often, it feels like one mind behind it all.

Arthur meets an old knight who teaches him to sit quietly, and breath deep, and they sit thus together for hours, Arthur scouring the kingdoms around them for this one mind, old sir Roan thinking of his wife. Arthur finds no one, though, and the months draw to winter.

It's been six months since he's seen Merlin, and the knights who were at the fort when he arrived have left and been replaced by new faces. Sir Ranulf has taken leave and Sir Cadowyn is in charge, when they hear word, from one of the sorcerer's in the last attack, that someone with some power is leading a raid on the border. Arthur is called for and he jogs through the fort, irritated at being taken away from his tryst with Lancelot.

He enters the interrogation room and finds the young woman he was so shocked to have to hurt in the last party. She had turned into a beast and Arthur had hung on to it, and been surprised, a few minutes later, to find a young girl in his arms. She looks at him, eyes wide and terrified, and she looks as much an animal as she had when in the other form.

“You're different, sir,” she says to him, voice clear and startling after months of being among men.

Arthur checks that they are alone, then takes a chair opposite her and nods.

“I am different.”

“You are Arthur Pendragon.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. There are stories among my people.”

“You are a Druid, then?”

“Yes.”

“How did you get caught up in all this?” he asks, the question gnawing at him.

“The people who attack you are mercenaries. They pay sorcerers who have little power so cannot earn a living, or they take them, like me. They have amulets and they make promises. They told me they would not harm my mother if I helped.”

“Do you know who they work for?”

“No. But I know who does know.”

“And?”

“She is coming. She has heard that you are holding the fort and she is coming. You won't be able to stop her, not with just you. She comes with the knights of Medhir, and they cannot be killed. She is coming, she is coming like fury, for you hold someone dear to her.”

“I? Who?”

“Camelot holds her. She is heir to the throne and she who rides is coming to place her there.”

“Heir to the throne,” Arthur says, nonplussed. Merlin is heir, Balinor has no other children.

“Yes. The king disguised himself and crept abed and she was born in ignorance. No one knows, but she who rides found it.”

“Who?”

“I do not know, but she wants her. She will have her, and she will place her on the throne. You cannot hold her, not alone.”

Arthur nods. They talk for longer, but Arthur gets nothing else. He jogs up to the tower to think, relieving the knight on duty. He reaches for Merlin, but he can't reach him as easily after so long apart. He breathes deep and focusses deep within himself.

-Arthur. I have been trying to reach you for a while, now.-

I've been with Freya, Arthur thinks, but Mordred can't hear, never has been able to hear.

-I am in the forest. You must come meet me. I will guide you-

He has another twenty minutes on duty, now he's relieved the knight, so he reaches across the space for Merlin, breathing deeply and focussing, quieting the people around him, muting them within him and reaching. He feels something that's almost Merlin and latches on, going deeper, but is surprised to find himself connecting with the Lady Morgana. He draws back, surprised, wondering what it could mean. He recalls Freya's words, and wonders.

Arthur waits to be relieved, then runs down to the infirmary. The knights who were here when he arrived are dead, all six of them. Arthur has helped Gareth bury them one by one. He helped clean and air the room, and now it smells of herbs. There are two knights lying groaning on beds, being scolded by Gareth.

“... will teach you to spar like that, honestly, you'd have thought- Arthur, hello. Saved by the squire, boys. I'll be over here,” Gareth comes over, wiping blood off his hands with a dirty cloth.

“Are they hurt badly?”

“Flesh wounds. How can I help? Headache?”

“No. I was wondering if you needed any herbs gathering. Leon has the day off and is drinking in the hall, so I have some spare time.”

“You are my saviour. I have been after sir Cadowyn to send out someone, but he refuses. He's a stubborn cuss- yes, please. I have a list the length of your arm. I've been getting them myself, but I'm under curfew and these boys seem to be desperate to hurt one another when they're not in battle.”

Arthur takes the list and the basket, and sets out. As soon as he's among the trees, Mordred's voice sounds in his head and guides him to a clearing. He sees Mordred, hooded, sat on a stone, and smiles.

“Arthur Pendragon,” Mordred says, standing and pushing his hood away.

His ink is visible again, silver and black threading intricate patterns across his cheek, telling all who can read it that Balinor is a killer. Arthur pulls the young lad into a hug and laughs with joy, happy to be able to greet him properly at last.

“Tell me all,” he says, once they're sat. Mordred stretches his legs out and crosses them at the ankles, tossing his head back to bathe in the sun.

“After the tournament, I decided to stay on at Camelot. The king was very generous to the contestants, and the prince showed me favour, so it wasn't a hard choice to make. I almost left when you marched out, but by then I was fond of Merlin, and he asked me to stay. He doesn't like the man who replaced you.”

“Tristan. No one likes my uncle,” Arthur says, “How is Merlin?”

“His shoulder had almost healed when I left. I assume you cannot reach him from here?”

“I can, I can feel him faintly. I could reach him at first, but I am forgetting the shape of his thoughts and that makes it harder. I can feel my father because he is my blood, but I can't seem to feel Merlin anymore, not clearly.”

“I might be able to help with that. I brought a note from him. I stayed, as I said, and was favoured by the prince- we sparred and practised together. I met sir Gwaine, too, by the way. He corrupted me in many ways,” Arthur laughs, glad that Gwaine is back at court, “he is there now, as far as I have heard. It took me a long time to get to you, I am sorry to say. The king was hunting me. He heard rumours that I was a Druid. Or rather, when Merlin was attacked the man was from my clan, and may have recognised me. Balinor uses horrific methods for getting information.”

“The letter?”

Mordred reaches into his tunic, then hands over a much-creased envelope. Arthur tears it open.

To whom it may concern,

I am well, do not fret as I know you are. There are intrigues here that I am dealing with, but our old friend Strength is at my side. I have concerns that the intrigue here will soon effect the borders, especially if a certain fort manages to hold out against magic, as I suspect it will. When it does, my messenger will be your aid. He can help. If, after the first wave, another is suspected- there may be hints that it will be eternal- send for me. You must send for me. Strength and Magic will come to aid you.

Courage, my other half,

a friend.

  
  


“I read it, I'm a curious bugger, but I couldn't make top nor tail of it. Except that I am the messenger.”

“And you were supposed to arrive far earlier than you did, you are out of time. The second wave is riding, with the knights of Medhir, the knights who cannot die, the eternal this refers to, I'd guess. Strength is Gwaine, Magic is Merlin. We were bored one day and gave each other these names. I am Courage. The intrigue is the Lady Morgana. The king doesn't like having her under his roof, I assume. I just stood on top of a tower trying to reach Merlin, but I found her instead. They are related, I'd guess siblings from things that are happening here.

“Right, come with me. You are my cousin, Rodolphous, and are a knight of Gedref. I can forge you a letter of introduction from Princess Mithian and write to her to let her know. I'll send that letter in a letter to Merlin, and he will pass it on,” Arthur says, getting to his feet and pulling Mordred up.

“My face,” Mordred says.

“Gedref allows Druids to join up, but yours is distinctive. Could you obscure it a bit?”

Mordred mutters a few words, and some of the ink moves under his skin, distorting the message. Mordred cries out in pain, holding Arthur's shoulder, but it's over fast.

“Ow. Is that better?”

Arthur takes the young man's chin and turns his head, examining it. It's not recognisable anymore. He nods and they set off, Mordred examining Gareth's list and waving his hand as they pass, herbs flying into Arthur's basket.

When they reach the fort, Mordred is refused entrance and Sir Cadowyn called down. It takes Arthur a while to convince the old knight that he'd come upon his cousin while wandering and then even longer to convince him that he was only born a druid, and had been raised of the faith in Gedref by a good Lord and Lady, but he does convince him. He writes to Merlin and Mithian and, stepping into his role of bodyguard to the prince, he pulls rank to have one of the squires leave on a fast horse and gives orders to gallop until he reaches the city.

That night he sits among the knights, as usual, smiling as Mordred makes his way into their hearts by being so innocent and curious. When Lancelot leads him away from the fire, Elyan's eyes on them, he goes willingly.

“Where were we, when we were interrupted?” Lancelot asks.

“Sorry, I can't right now. Freya told me all sorts of things, my head's buzzing,” Arthur says, kissing Lancelot anyway.

“Mm. Cadowyn said you learnt nothing new.”

“Cadowyn learnt nothing new, it is true,” Arthur says, checking around.

Three squires are coming down the corridor, so Arthur presses Lancelot to the wall and kisses down his neck, sucking on the skin there, making him moan. The squires jeer and laugh but pass by. Lancelot sighs, hand clenching and unclenching on Arthur's shoulder.

“You're good at that,” Lancelot says, breathless, “what did you learn?”

“That the knights of Medhir have been woken and are riding here, a woman at their head. I believe she is a priestess, if she can wake the knights. She is looking to the Lady Morgana, I think, to place her on the throne as a Druid sympathiser, to bring back religion into the royal house. I do not know who she is, but she is coming here, to this point, because she has been testing us and knows that if we are taken out, there is no one in the army who can withstand magic.”

“Jesus. And you're not telling anyone?”

“No, I'm not. We have to stand, and without fear, and we won't. Not if they know. They're good men, but we need better.”

“Sir Mordred.”

“Is a Druid sorcerer I saved from Balinor years ago. Merlin made up his bloodline and smudged the ink on the rolls.”

“Why are you telling me?”

“You've ridden all over. You must have friends, good men who will fight. Camelot is going to be glorious under Merlin's rule, everyone knows. He's a good man.”

“You're a better man. Yes, I can send word to one I know, but only one.”

“That's better than nothing. I have two sent for and Elyan and Leon are better men than those they serve with. I can feel the strength in them.”

“Then we are... eight. Eight men who stand against the knights of Medhir. God help us and have mercy.”

“Indeed,” Arthur says, and kisses Lancelot.

They take their minds off their impending doom, once Lancelot has sent word to his friend. They have yet to actually use the squires' quarter and it's empty, so they lie on Arthur's bedroll and kiss lazily, hips moving easily in familiar rhythms. Arthur allows Lancelot to take him, fingers clenching in his bedroll, smothering his cries in the jerkin he uses to pillow his head.

***

Arthur is on watch with Leon, stilling from habit and reaching around, as if he's still in Merlin's service. His heart jolts as, the second he thinks of Merlin, he feels him. He looks up and out, but he can see no one. He glances at Leon, but Leon's noticed nothing. How can someone miss the arrival of Merlin? Arthur begs Leon for a break and dashes down the stone steps, nearly falling, and careens into the knights' quarters, where Mordred is sat.

“He's coming,” he says, and Mordred smiles.

“You've known that.”

Arthur shrugs, petulantly. He might have known, but it's still exciting to feel Merlin so close. Mordred has helped him reach Merlin with magic, but it's hard and they haven't done it often. Last night they found him close, and now Arthur can feel him without stretching so he must be imminent. He reaches out and engulfs Merlin, excited. His excitement is replicated and Arthur feels Merlin speeding up. The tattoo on his back is itching, so he takes off again, running down to the hall to tell Lancelot.

“Lancelot!” he calls, falling into the room.

Lancelot looks up from the fireside, and Elyan's there and looks up too. Arthur scitters over to them and crouches, face cracking to grin.

“He's coming.”

“We're looking over your plans, Arthur. The layout of the castle is useful, good idea,” Elyan says, sketching in the last of the defences.

They've been working in secret since Freya told Arthur what was coming, and Arthur thinks they have a pretty solid plan. He looks over Elyan's sketch and gives his approval, before dashing back up to Leon.

It's not Merlin who arrives first, though. A man comes, riding bareback, galloping out of the forest and leaping from his horse. Arthur watches him arguing with the guards and reaches out, idly. The man's sense of urgency inhabits him, though, and he jitters.

“What is with you, Arthur?”

“Merlin's coming. That man down there has urgent business. Lancelot and Elyan are excited. I can feel Merlin! He's bringing Gwaine with him, and two others. Women. Gwenevere and Morgana! Why? Never mind. I have to go, please.”

“Go, run, jitter elsewhere. I mostly have you with me because Cadowyn has decided attack is imminent and is a right foul git if protocol is broken, and this is a two man look out.”

“I'll come right back. Tell him I'm peeing.”

“Go, you fool.”

Arthur goes, legging it back to the hall. Mordred has joined the other two and as Arthur enters, Lancelot leaps up. They crash into one another, both excited.

“Arthur! Sorry, Percival has arrived but they won't let him in. I have to go-”

Arthur freezes, grinning.

“That won't be a problem, come on!” he says, grabbing Lancelot's hand and running.

Lancelot laughs as they leap down the steps and embraces the man from the horse quickly. Arthur stands to attention, shadowing himself, as four newly arrived riders dismount. They're all cloaked and their faces are hidden, so when they step forwards the guards move.

“He is your prince,” Arthur says, bowing deeply.

The guards step back and stand to attention before bowing too, and Merlin sweeps back his hood, Gwaine and the other two following suit. Lancelot lets out a cry of joy at seeing Gwen, and bounces from Percival to her, bowing and kissing her hand.

“Sir Lancelot, manners suggest bowing to the prince before his maid-servant,” Arthur says, reproachfully, so Lancelot bows to Merlin as well, blushing bright red.

“This man is with me,” Merlin says, indicating Percival, and then he strides into the fort, Arthur falling into his old familiar place at Merlin's back, automatically shadowing himself from sight.

They are followed by Lancelot, Gwenevere, Morgana, and Gwaine, and Elyan and Mordred fall in, too. It's quite the entourage that enters Sir Cadowyn's outer chambers. The poor knight nearly has a heart attack on seeing the prince and bows so low he almost topples over.

“Sire, I was not expecting you. I haven't had rooms prepared.”

“No matter, my own people can do that,” Merlin says, and turns to Arthur, “Arthur, sort that, please.”

Arthur nods and leaves, taking the people with him. Merlin, alone with Cadowyn, can deal with manners and royal matters. Arthur takes the entourage to the rooms he's already prepared, a suit in a dusty corner of the fort where no one ever goes. He's had Mordred clean them up with magic, but the hallway leading there is still dusty. Morgana's dress train deals with that, Arthur thinks, amused.

“Ladies, we were not aware that you were to be... um.. female,” Elyan says, blushing, as he shows them into the rooms to the left of Merlin's. They're set up for two knights, but Mordred steps forwards, clears his throat and turns one of the bedstands into a four poster, with curtains.

“That's a trick worth learning,” Merlin says, appearing behind them, “I told Cadowyn I was here to see over the defences, to report on why they were working here and not elsewhere. He says he has no idea.”

“Yes, well, Ranulf knew but he went on holiday. I don't trust Sir Cadowyn, there's a weakness in him. He feels like he'll break if anyone presses,” Arthur says, defending himself from Merlin's amusement.

“Are these my rooms?” Merlin asks, still teasing Arthur.

“No, sire, if you'll follow me,” Lancelot says, voice full of respect.

They all traipse through to Merlin's rooms, and they congregate in the outer chamber, where there's a table and chairs set up, and sit around while Elyan sends for a squire to get them some food. There's a babble of noise as everyone catches up with each other, and Arthur steps away, turning himself inside. He falls back into his place easily, so when the squire comes back he asks where Arthur is.

“His knight is looking for him. Apparently he went off duty to relieve himself and is taking a bloody long time. We suggested that perhaps he had... other concerns... to be relieved,” the squire says, laughing.

“Yes, perhaps,” Merlin says, sending Arthur yet another mocking glance, “but never mind. Have Sir Leon report to me here, please. I shall call my errant shadow, don't worry.”

When Leon arrives and shuts the door with a snick, Merlin raises his hands and his eyes flash, then he relaxes and grins around.

“Hello, Arthur's knights,” he says, motioning Arthur to sit, which he does, “Oh! Leon, sit in the next seat unless you want to sit on Arthur's knees. Right. Introductions. I think it'll be easiest if we just go around saying our names, don't you? Good. I'm Merlin.”

“Mordred, and yes, I am a Druid.”

“Sir Elyan, a knight, please stop shouting at me Gwen, I really did mean to write!”

“Gwenevere, a smith, and I shall keep on shouting until I beat some sense into your useless head!”

“Lady Morgana, but you can all drop the lady. I will be fighting as Sir Morgan. I am a Druid sympathiser, and an heir to the throne of Camelot. I have conceded my rights to my brother, Merlin, for the time being. I know who is coming, and I'll tell you all in due course.”

“Sir Gwaine, handsomest of knights.”

“Sir Lancelot, knight. Arthur trusts me. I hope I prove myself worthy of that.”

“Percival, I'm a farmer. I have fought with Lancelot before, and he sent word that you were looking. I will fight, if you accept me.”

“Arthur?” Merlin asks.

Arthur reaches into Percival, feeling around for the strengths he feels in Merlin, the weaknesses he feels in Cadowyn. He nods when he's done, pleased with what he finds.

“I accept your offer, Percival. I will knight you this evening, if you so desire it. It would make things easier if we could tell people you were a knight,” Merlin says, and Percival nods.

Merlin nods to Leon to introduce himself.

“Sir Leon.”

Everyone waits, but that's all Leon has to say. There's a trickle of laughter, then silence, everyone waiting. After a moment Merlin remembers himself.

“Arthur, you are off duty here.”

Arthur unshadows himself and relaxes.

“In this fight I shall be Lord Arthur Pendragon, unless Merlin feels like knighting me, too.”

There's laughter again, but Lancelot looks expectantly at the prince. Arthur blushes.

“As it so happens, I have orders to knight you. Sir Ranulf suggested the king do it, and he seemed to think you were more likely to get yourself killed as a knight than as a squire, so he ordered it,” Merlin says.

“Your father doesn't want me dead, Merlin. He cares too deeply for you to wish it. He just wants me to taste battle and to talk you out of wanting it, and he thinks a seasoned knight will be better protection to you on the battle field when he does send you out. He isn't wrong,” Arthur says.

He's had a long time to think over Balinor's words and deeds, and has come to this conclusion. Merlin nods in acceptance, but doesn't really believe it at all.

“Now that we all know each other, let's start. Mordred, how do you do that thing, where you change one item to another?” Merlin asks, curiosity making his eyes bright.

“It can only be done if the materials are the same. You have to find their essence and know their true names, and then you can use words to persuade them. It takes knowledge that you haven't got yet, Merlin,” Mordred returns, bluntly familiar with the prince.

Lancelot looks shocked, Gwaine laughs aloud and Merlin looks put out.

“I can learn,” he says.

“Yes, of course my lord,” Mordred says, tone mocking.

“I can! I learnt how to do that singing thing, didn't I?”

“If anyone can learn how to find the names of all living things, it is you. I only know a few. I happen to know wood and cotton, so I could make the Lady Morgana-”

“Sir Morgan, please,” Morgana cuts in.

“Sir Morgana's fine, lady-like bed,” Mordred finishes.

Gwen and Gwaine laugh, everyone else too uncertain of Morgana to dare.

“You can change this ugly, square monstrosity, then?” Merlin asks, pointing at the table.

“To what?” Mordred asks, hands already reaching for it.

“A round table, to denote equality,” Merlin says.

Mordred shuts his eyes, says some quite words, and the table stretches, elongates, then becomes circular. The food topples off, plates sliding after them, but Merlin catches it all and puts it back when Mordred's done.

“If we're equals,” Arthur says, meeting Merlin's eyes, “we should tell them.”

“Do so. I've been wanting to share for years, you're the cautious bunny rabbit.”

“It could get you killed, and I am your bodyguard so it could get me killed too! Anyway, we've had the argument. Some of you already know, some of you may have guessed, but Merlin and I are not just a shadow and his master. We were born with ink under our skin, two halves of one gold piece as it were. His mother calls us two halves of one coin, which we think apt.”

“And Arthur's not just linked to me, he's an empath. He can feel you all, which is how he knew Morana was a woman and how he finds weakness in Cadowyn and strength in all of you. It's also partly how he has been suppressing the sorcerers here, though that's also partly the charm on the ink. He can truly encircle their magic, finding it and engulfing it.”

“And Merlin's not just a powerful sorcerer, he has more power than anyone I've ever come across, even Nimueh. He has access to the deep magic. I don't know if even Merlin knows how powerful he is,” Arthur says, turning to Merlin and speaking to him:

“It reaches right into the soil and through the air, the land listens to you, sire. The people are your people because they were born of the land and to the land, and she gives them into your protection. You are part of it all, your magic is their magic, is the magic the land is steeped in, and goes back through history and forwards through time. It's as big and as old as the world, and renews itself every time a moment passes and the world become new once more.”

“Eloquently put, thank you. No, I had no idea what you meant when you used to tell me not to use 'that' kind of magic. As you put it. I had no idea that I was part of the earth,” Merlin says acerbically.

“Arthur's eyes go silver,” Lancelot says, speaking unexpectedly. Everyone turns their attention to him, which derails the argument Merlin and Arthur were about to have. “His eyes turn silver like the prince's turn gold. He can do more than just feel. I've seen him do more. He healed the mind of a broken man and tamed a monster, turning it back to a girl.”

“Oh!” Arthur says, turning to Merlin, “Freya. Yes, I forgot. You should talk to her, because she knows loads of stuff, and see if you can find a way to control her. She turns into a winged cat thing when she's scared. We could use that kind of power with us. If you can control her.”

“Lancelot just told us all that you tamed her already,” Merlin says, dryly.

“Lancelot is a fool who knows too much but not quite enough,” Arthur says, glaring at the knight in question. Lancelot just shrugs good naturedly and goes back to gazing at Gwenevere.

“If you boys are finished bickering, and I may have your attention?” Morgana says, and again the room turns their attention as one. “The woman who is coming is Morgause, my half sister. We share a mother from a previous marriage. She has contacted me before, and asked to meet with me a week before Merlin asked me to ride here with him. I think I am part of the spell she used to raise the knights of Medhir. Mordred, you can find out?”

“Yes, my lady,” Mordred says.

“Good. Arthur Pendragon, tell me how Owain died,” she says, turning on him with big, beseeching eyes.

Arthur stands up and goes to the window, the pain of that still raw. He hadn't known Owain well, but they'd been close enough and he'd felt the boy die. Besides which, while since he has learnt that death is part of this duty and has become able to deal with it, Owain was his first.

“I do not know,” he says, thinking back, “I was preoccupied with the sorcerer. When I turned, Owain was down. I reached for him, and I felt him, but then... he went out.”

“Did you guys feel anything?” Merlin asks, curiosity bleeding through his sympathetic tone.

“No, it wasn't like when the queen died,” Lancelot says, making people gasp.

“That was you?” Leon says, speaking for the first time. “Lady Morgana, Owain died bravely and well. He was a good knight and a good man, and spoke most highly of you in his last moments. Arthur Pendragon, what secrets you have kept from me!”

“Why should I share them, with a man who is marrying Mary?” Arthur asks, his hurt at Leon leaving him an old wound, sharpening.

“I thought we were friends.”

“Perhaps we are friends. We were, once. Then we were something else, and then I was your squire,” Arthur says.

“You two can have this argument later. Where is Morgause now, Morgana?” Merlin says.

“I don't know. After she left me, I know she travelled to Cenred's kingdom, but what she did there or where she went next I do not know,” Morgana says, regretfully.

“Can you find her, Arthur?” Merlin asks.

“I've never asked permission before, but Lady Morgana, I can ask your permission, so I will. I'll need to get a handle on you to find her,” Arthur says.

“What will you do to her?” Gwen asks, chin up, defences ready.

Both Elyan and Lancelot look proudly on, beaming as one.

“I will reach into your mind and find your centre. I will feel what you're feeling and follow that, reach deeper, until I find you. Then I will find her.”

“Very well,” Morgana says.

Arthur's never been able to do this openly, except with Pellinor. He sits opposite Morgana and takes both her hands, looking into her eyes, and connects. He reaches inside and finds her magic, her fear, and pushes further, ignoring her little cry of pain. He pushes deeper and deeper until he feels her centre. It's not like Merlin's, golden and innocent, or his father's, rusty and hard, or his mother's- no one feels like his mother used to, though- or like Edwin's anger. It's deep and echoing, full of light, but dark in some places. It's cold and soft, warm and hard, desperate and angry and loving.

When he draws away, Morgana is sobbing, leaning into Gwen, gasping and crying with grief. Arthur stares at her.

“You knew,” he says, surprised, “you knew who your father was, before your mother did, before your father died you knew. How?”

“What did you do to her?” Gwen asks, angry.

“How did you know?” Arthur asks again.

“I... dream!” Morgana says, gulping back tears. “I have dreams and they come true, but this one... already... had! He.... he raped her.... and then wrote to her... and she never even... she was.... my father...”

Arthur reaches out, but Gwen smacks his hands. He wants to touch her, because he can feel it, all her pain, and he can feel Gwen's, too, and her mother's death, and Morgana's mother and father dying, and he can feel the rage inside Merlin and the sorrow in Lancelot and Elyan and it all hurts.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks.

“No,” Arthur says. He's not alright.

He gets up and wants to disappear, and he can, so he does. Here he's safe from them all, from their pain. He can breathe easier, he doesn't have to have Morgana's pain anymore. They're still connected, though, and he does keep some of it. He slips into Merlin's rooms, no one noticing him leaving, and curls in Merlin's bed, trying to shut it out.

He lies there for a long time before Merlin comes in and sits. Arthur can feel him and hear him and smell him. He buries his face, hiding from Merlin.

“You're crying,” Merlin says, then, “Lancelot's right- your eyes turned silver when you connected with Morgana. Gwen's looking after her. The other's have gone on watch. Lancelot's a good man, good for our Gwen, isn't he? I'm sorry that he chose her, though. One day someone will chose you, and you alone. I'm sorry about your mother, too, though it was long ago. And about Owain.”

Arthur listens, Merlin's voice so familiar.

“Will you lie down with me?” He asks, afraid of the answer.

Merlin sighs and gets up, then the bed depresses and Merlin's there, taking Arthur into his arms. It's like breathing for the first time, pressing his face into Merlin's skin, holding Merlin's waist, and he sobs, trying to get rid of the pain Morgana leant him. Merlin soothes him, inside and out, and when he finally calms, he can't tell where he begins and where Merlin ends. They lie, tangled and enmeshed, until Arthur's breathing stops hitching, and then Arthur hiccups and Merlin laughs and pulls back, and they're two people again.

“I wasn't expecting her to be like that,” Arthur explains.

“No, nor was I. Nor was I. I'm surprised she can find it in her to forgive me, you know. It took a lot of fights, but I believe her when she says she is giving way to me.”

“She's full of light,” Arthur says.

“And where there's light, there are shadows, hmm? We'll be on guard for her, against them all.”

“Against them all. We will. You never know what's inside of someone.”

“You know too well.”

They quiet and Arthur feels the terror and pain and sadness fade away. They were never his to begin with, anyway.

“What did you tell the others?”

“That you were still there, but couldn't find Morgause. We agreed to meet tomorrow morning, when we'd all rested. Leon will remind Sir Cadowyn that my being here means you're not his squire anymore, and tonight, at the feast sir Cadowyn will throw, I will knight you.”

“I can look for Morgause.”

“No. Now, we rest.”

“Here?”

“Yes, here.”

They lie in silence again, Merlin carding a hand through Arthur's hair.

“I missed you,” Merlin says eventually, quietly. “You missed my birthday. We had such a feast.”

“For the crown prince, the champion of all magicks. I can imagine.”

“We had fire breathers and acrobats. Gwaine got drunk and tried knife throwing, and he nearly killed sir Loholt.”

“Ha! Serves him right. Are they alright, then?”

“Yes, they all returned with many stories of you, which helped my father's decision to knight you.”

They subside again, Arthur tangling his fingers in Merlin's tunic.

“I'm sorry I missed it. I missed you, as well.”

“I know. Thank you, for reaching me when I was hurt. I disliked having Tristan around.”

“So you called Gwaine and made Mordred a friend, so you could be protected away from Tristan.”

“Indeed. I've looked over your plans, they look good.”

They quiet again and Arthur realises they're breathing in time, and the more he focuses on their breathing, the further he drifts, until he's sleeping deeply.

The dress one another quietly, later, and Merlin makes Arthur dress as a squire and not as a shadow, pinning his cloak with his own broach. Arthur suggests Merlin is marking him again, but Merlin looks so sorry that Arthur takes it back, many times. He's still taking it back when they walk down to the hall, Arthur automatically shadowing himself among the people. Merlin doesn't object, just brings up happy, joyous feelings for Arthur.

Merlin is seated between sir Cadowyn and Lady Morgana, and when Morgana leans close to Merlin, sir Cadowyn looks surprised and then thoughtful. Arthur thinks of his two children, waiting for their father to return, and hopes Cadowyn is never in a position to be broken. When they've eaten, Merlin stands and the hall of excited knights and squires quiets.

“Good evening. I am here as my father's envoy, to congratulate you on your success and find out how you managed it,” Merlin says, and one of the squires yells out Arthur's name, causing laughter. “As you brought it up, I am also here to knight my shadow, Arthur Pendragon. He is sitting next to you, sir Roan,” Merlin continues, and Roan just nods slowly and smiles as Arthur become visible to them. “Please stand, Arthur.”

Arthur makes his way to the front of the halls, blushing red as people cheer and catcall, and kneels before Merlin. Merlin looks into his eyes and smiles, drawing his sword. Arthur doesn't hesitate in lowering his head, baring his neck for Merlin's blade.

“Arise, Sir Arthur, knight of Camelot,” Merlin says, and Arthur feels the weight of the sword and the words in Merlin, and in himself he feels the weight of the blade on his shoulder, and the weight of the commission and trust Merlin is giving him.

He rises.

Later, back in Merlin's outer chamber, the same group as earlier congregate to witness Percival's knighting ceremony, and try to make as much noise as an entire hall of knights and squires when he rises. He embraces Lancelot and beams at he rest of them, looking embarrassed. Arthur makes his way to Morgana, feeling her apprehension and sorrow across the room.

“Lady Morgana. I apologise for causing you pain earlier,” he says, taking her hand. “I can break the connection between us, now.”

“No! Leave it. I am connected to the prince's shadow, no one is safer, right?” She says, taking her hand back.

Arthur bows, a little over whelmed.

“I trust people because I can know what's inside the, but you trust us on faith alone,” he says. “I admire that. You are strong, Lady Morgana, as Morgana as well as as sir Morgan.”

“It is kind of you to say. Can we stop being so polite now?”

“If you wish. We're connected- that's almost family.”

“In that case, I shall tell you that you are a pig for making me tell you about my dreams.”

Arthur smiles, and when he and Merlin withdraw, both to Merlin's bed without discussion, he lies in Merlin's arms feeling easy and more safe than he has in years. He considers reaching for Morgause, but decides against it as sleep over takes him.

  
  


 

 


	7. Chapter Seven

Arthur goes to Mordred, early the next morning, and they make their way to the forest with Gareth's list and basket. They walk to their clearing and sit opposite one another, holding hands, cross legged.

“Okay, Arthur. You're not looking for Merlin this time, so we'd better begin by dismissing him,” Mordred says, voice a sing-song, rise and fall, gentle cadence.

Arthur nods and breathes deeply, centring himself the way sir Roan taught him, focussing on Mordred's gentle hum instead of Merlin's insistent heat.

“Mm, better. Okay, let's see what we can do, then,” Mordred says.

Arthur watches his head go back and shuts his eyes, listening to the notes on the air, tasting them, humming, breathing, living them. They trail away slowly, leaving Arthur with a keen focus. He holds Morgana as a judge and reaches, turning people inside out as he passes over them, searching. He's extended himself over Essetir before, and follows the route his mind knows, through villages and leafy lanes to Cenred's castle.

He finds her there, full of lust and power, taking Cenred with her magic. He pauses on her mind, reaching for her magic. He searches through her and goes deeper and deeper, finding her magic at her centre. It's strong, experienced, but it's darker than Merlin and Mordred's, not as dark as Edwin's but dark. It's also religious, which Arthur's only come across in Mordred and there it's sparse. Here it's deeply religious, painfully so. He pulls out, and draws back, gasping, feeling like he's going to vomit.

“Are you going to throw up on me?” Mordred asks. It's happened before.

“No,” Arthur says, then changes his mind. “Yes.”

Mordred manoeuvres them so Arthur's not vomiting on himself or Mordred, and Arthur swallows a few times trying to keep his breakfast down, but it's no good. He throws up on the forest floor, straining even after he's rid himself of the food he has in his stomach, heaving up nothing but bile and pain.

“Are you alright? Should I fetch someone? I can say you took ill,” Mordred's saying.

Arthur heaves again, getting rid of the taste of her, then it's over. He spits into the pool of vomit and sits back, holding out a hand. Mordred scrambles to his feet then helps Arthur to his, steadying him when he sways.

“Can you get Gareth's things?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“Yes, of course. Why?”

“I need to tell Merlin. I'm going back.”

Mordred looks uncertain, and Arthur's still unsteady enough to be uncertain himself, but he straightens, adjusts his tunic and jacket, then smiles reassuringly and sets off at a jog. He shadows himself when he gets close and speeds up as he steadies. He slips inside the fort, avoiding the guards with ease, and goes straight to Merlin's chamber.

Merlin's with Gwaine, breakfasting, but Cadowyn is there too. Merlin sees Arthur and kicks out a chair, managing to get rid of Cadowyn politely and swiftly. Arthur drops into the chair, breathing hard, nausea returning at the insistent smell of food.

“Arthur! You're white as a sheet!” Merlin says, eyes flashing gold to give them privacy, and he hurries to kneel by Arthur's chair.

“I found her. She's at Cenred's castle, and he's involved somehow, but I don't know how. I think she wants his power. They were... um... you know, with her magic, in him, and she... god, Merlin, she's really...” Arthur's stomach rebels again and he scrapes back his chair, not wanting to vomit on the prince.

Merlin magics a bowl over and sets it in Arthur's lap, hand resting on Arthur's forehead, rubbing his back as Arthur heaves up nothing. Merlin murmurs nonsense, sending out soothing feelings, and Arthur focusses on him instead of Morgause.

“I'll be able to find her again easily, I can track her for you,” he says, and spits into the bowl.

“Not if it makes you this sick.”

“I don't have to go so deep. It was that, the travel sickness I get from covering that kind of distance, left over from Morgana yesterday and... I had to go right inside her, right to her centre, to find her magic. It's all she is, her religion and her magic. It's strong, Merlin. Enough to be a real threat. But she's not as powerful as Nimueh.”

“Should be easy for me, then. Being one with the soil, and all,” Merlin jokes.

“It's not funny. She's experienced, Merlin. She's old, and she's dedicated her life to these arts. You just study in spare time and even then, you don't practise enough.”

“I practise,” Merlin says. “No, you're right, not the way you mean. I'm instinctive, she's practised. Mordred and Morgana are practised, though.”

“Morgana. Ha! Isn't she a new one?” Arthur says, feeling her still sleeping next door.

“She's a seer,” Merlin says, quietly, gravely.

“We're a right bunch of freaks,” Gwaine says, reminding Arthur of his presence. “Would you like to become visible to us mere mortals, princess?”

“I'm his shadow, not his consort,” Arthur says, automatically, unshadowing himself.

“You're no shadow, Silver,” Gwaine says with a grin. “It's good to see you. You look like shite.”

“Being inside a witch like this one will do that to you.”

Gwaine nods and passes Merlin a goblet of water and a piece of toast, which Merlin presses on Arthur before removing the bowl with a wave of his hand.

“Where did you banish that to? And is some poor, unsuspecting someone gonna end up with a bowl of Silver's vomit landing on them?” Gwaine says, laughing.

Merlin's face tells them the answer to that, and Arthur laughs too, falling into the familiarity of Gwaine's teasing with ease.

***

Arthur stands at his post, feeling Merlin and the others at his back. Morgause left the castle this morning, and since then knights and squires have been getting sick and falling asleep. Now, only the ten of them are left, protected by a spell concocted by Mordred after making Morgana lie on the floor and making her glow. Mordred claims he was doing more than making her glow, but on a lack of evidence or explanation, they're all decided he really didn't and have been teasing him since. Arthur closes his eyes and blocks them out, one by one, leaving only Merlin.

-hello Arthur, isn't this cool?-

-yes yes, you're very clever, creating a spell so we can talk-

-your tattoo is fascinating! You should have let me examine it a long time ago-

-maybe you're right. She's here-

As Arthur says it, or thinks it, eight riders appear on the horizon, approaching from the north, where there is no forest.

-she's here-

He thinks it again, sending it to Mordred this time, and then he closes his eyes and shadows himself so deeply that even Merlin will have trouble seeing him.

Arthur watches the eight knights dismount and sweep into the fort. He doesn't move, and he isn't seen. When they reach the courtyard, Gwen, Elyan, Lancelot, Leon, Gwaine and Percival leap out, swords gleaming, and there's a picture of dark cloaks, bright armour, the sounds of swords clashing. Arthur watches Leon skewer one of the knights, but the knights keeps fighting. The eighth knight passes through the melé towards the gates to the inner fort, but Mordred appears.

There's a flash of fire, from whom Arthur can't tell, but then another and another comes and gold and blue clash, sparks flying. The knights of Medhir, unable to die, are slowly backing the others to the walls, when Mordred falls back, light surrounding him. Arthur slips through the mess of fighting and crouches by him, waiting until Morgause passes then resting his hands on Mordred's chest, trying to remove the magic Morgause used. It's dark and it hurts, but his ink soaks it out of Mordred's skin and Mordred's left, pale and unconscious, but alive. Arthur sits and shivers, watching the fighting in the courtyard with a sharp eye.

He hopes Merlin can really do this, can really face Morgause. Once she's in the middle of the fort, Merlin will close all the doors and face her, alone. Arthur sighs and gets to his feet, pressing into Mordred's mind to rouse him. He lifts his sword and joins Gwaine, standing back to back with him.

“Hello, silver. Gonna... uh! Fix this?” Gwaine says, breathless, sword clashing to meet one of the Medhir knights'.

Arthur nods and leans into Gwaine.

“Turn,” he says, and he and Gwaine switch so Arthur is facing the knight.

There's a moment where the knight is baffled, met by Gwaine's back, but then it senses Arthur and steps forwards, sword raised. Arthur shadows himself, pretending to hide from Merlin, and the split second he barely exists the knight lowers its sword in confusion. Arthur takes the moment, pushing through it's defences and holding it by the nape of it's neck, pressing his forehead to the knight's helmet.

There's nothing in here save her will, nothing inside. No body, no heat. Just one mind, one focus, one job. He loses his focus and becomes visible and feels everyone, then pushes them away and presses in deeper. He clutches the knight and it's sword clatters to the ground, they spin, almost dancing, as Arthur finds it's centre, it's willpower. It's deep and painful but he holds on, feet following the steps the knight sets, faltering and stumbling through the courtyard.

They hit a wall and the breath is knocked from Arthur, and he sees a split second of light. He grasps it and engulfs the knight, holding it close, clinging on as his tattoo burns. It feels like he's being engulfed himself, as if he's being sucked out. He screams but holds on, yelling until his voice goes, clutching the knight and keeping himself around it, taking its magic, its life force, from it. It's never ending and for a while he thinks he's going to die, but then...

He feels Merlin pulling at him and he connect automatically, letting go of the knight. The crumpled black shapes across the courtyard rear up and stumble around as Arthur connects with Merlin and Merlin draws what's left of his strength from him. He feels, through Merlin, Morgana dying, feels people start to wake, Merlin's knights spread out in a circle around the centre, keeping Morgause... Morgause is screaming, tearing at Merlin with magic, but not getting close.

The knights of Medhir right themselves and the one Arthur was grappling with swings round, sword raised. He feels Merlin tug and cries out in pain, and then the knights evaporate. The sky goes black and there's a flash of lightning. Arthur collapses against the wall, body giving up, and tries to find out, to feel, what's going on. He can't find anyone though, can't find anyone. The world is two dimensional and all he feels is his own tiredness and pain. He closes his eyes, for just a moment.

“Arthur! Merlin, over here!”

Arthur winces against the pain in his head and the noise.

“Arthur. Arthur, crap, I couldn't feel... I thought I'd killed you. Oh, I can feel a pulse. He's alive!”

Merlin. Arthur can't feel him, though, just hear him. He panics and lashes out against the hands on him. They feel wrong, clumsy, and he can't tell who's touching him. He rolls away and curls in on himself. He wants to find Merlin, to find Merlin's voice again.

“I know, I know. I know you can't feel the connection, but it's me. It really is me. It'll come back, it's still there- I can feel it. Look, look.”

Arthur opens his eyes and the golden thread that he saw when his mother died is there, between Merlin's palm, stretching towards Arthur. It fades as Arthur's eyes open, but Merlin's smiling, and he reaches out. Arthur can see that it's Merlin's hand so he doesn't flinch when it cups his face.

“There. Just me, see?”

“Yeah. Did we do it?”

“Yes, you did it. We did it. I gave Morgana the herb and Morgause found us, and we fought. She was powerful, you were right- it took more than I thought it would. The poison was stronger, too, and I had to keep Morgana alive. Morgause- well, I had to borrow from you. I told her I would give her the name of the poison if she took the spell away, and she could feel the life leaving Morgana, so she did. I gave Morgana the cure and Morgause came at us.”

“Is that when the sky went black?”

“Uh, did it? It got dark. And then the knights burst in, Mordred at their head, and they got Morgause, and I got Morgana. Simple, easy peasy.”

“Yeah. Oh, I can..” Arthur concentrates, and he can feel Merlin.

He can't feel anyone else, and Merlin's emotions are like a faint echo, but they're there. He smiles and sighs in relief.

“It's back? Great. Because Gareth wants to get a look at you, to make sure you're not hurt. Um, you... yeah, your eyes are blue again. Lancelot said it was amazing, because they couldn't see you, but you were dancing, flickering, silver eyed, and their knights all collapsed and you were... yeah. Cool.”

“I wish I could've seen you fight. D'you think Nimueh felt it?”

“What? Felt me taking your life force for Morgana? Felt me using the power of the earth to try and take some of Morgause's power? Felt myself, Mordred and Morgana all using magic at once to create something to hold Morgause? Felt you sucking the life out of immortal knights?....Nah.”

Arthur laughs and Merlin backs away, giving place to Gareth who tuts over him but finds nothing wrong and just gives him something for the headache. Gwaine comes over next, arm bound to his body, grin wide.

“Hello, Silver. Good show.”

“What happened to you?” Arthur asks, holding out his hand.

Gwaine and Lancelot, who comes over at that moment, haul Arthur to his feet and Merlin ducks under one arm, then staggers under his weight so Gwaine gets under Arthur's other arm.

“Just a scratch, princess,” Gwaine says as the three of them sway their way through the crowds to Merlin's quarters.

Gwen and Morgana are waiting there, Morgana looking white faced and blue lipped. Arthur and Merlin collapse into chairs and Gwaine staggers out to find food for them all. He returns with Elyan, Leon, Lancelot and Percival on his heels, all following the smell of roast chicken with wide eyes. They sit around the circular table again.

“Merlin was magnificent,” Morgana says to no one in particular.

“One day,” Arthur says between bites of chicken and yawns, “one day I'll see you fighting properly, Merlin. You won't have to be careful because of Nimueh, and I'll be at your back, and you can be...” he trails off to yawn again and pushes his food away.

Merlin looks like he's about to fall asleep in his potatoes and the others aren't much better, though Gwen seems to be glowing with exhilaration.

“Right, everyone out. Time to sleep,” Merlin says.

When everyone's gone he staggers up and Arthur follows suit, and they cling to one another and stumble into the bed chamber and onto the bed. They're asleep before they manage to get any further.

  
  


***

Arthur rests for three days before he starts feeling people not-Merlin again. Merlin stays with him for two, sleeping a lot and staying close. When he does start to feel people, the pressure headache eases and he finds himself able to get up and sit in Merlin's outer chamber for long periods of time. He's here, eating lunch with Gwaine, Percival and Mordred while Merlin does the job he was technically here to do, when Nimueh arrives.

He still hasn't been able to reach far, so she manages to get to the gates of the fort before he feels her. When he does, he shudders at the anger and coldness in her. They've come up with a story, hoping to pull a veil over just how powerful Merlin is and just what exactly Arthur did, but he's not sure it will hold up.

“Nimueh's here,” he says, interrupting Gwaine's story of yet another tavern brawl.

“Oh dear,” Percival says.

Mordred winces and touches his face.

“Right. Mordred, cover that like you did in the tournament. She probably already knows you are a Druid, but no need to goad her. Percival, unless she questions you, do not speak. She doesn't need to know that Merlin claimed you as one of his men to Cadowyn, or that you were knighted by him barely a week ago. Gwaine, please try not to... be you.”

“What about you, Silver?”

“Yeah, don't call me silver, either. I am a shadow, Gwaine, I will be invisible and keep my place.”

“If I may, Arthur?” Mordred says, and doesn't wait for permission to continue. “I think you shouldn't. You should be a knight. After all, the king gave orders for you to be knighted, and you're probably more able to back Merlin up as Sir Arthur Pendragon, son of Lord Pendragon, inheritor to the title, than as Merlin's invisible shadow.”

Arthur nods and wipes his mouth, hurrying to Merlin's room for the mail he left there when Merlin arrived. Mordred follows him and helps him dress, fingers sure and confident on the stays and ties and buckles. They hurry through it and have just managed to slip back to their places when Nimueh enters. She stares around, then turns on the squire behind her.

“I said I wished to see the prince, he is not here,” she says.

“N-no. I mean, y-yes. I... he will be!” the squire squeaks.

“Good. Then I will wait.”

She stalks in and takes a seat at the table, ignoring the knights also sat there. Arthur feels Morgana and Gwen in the other room, their emotions suddenly stark, and moments later Morgana sweeps in, Gwen at her heels as her maid servant. Nimueh rises and takes the hands Morgana holds out.

“Lady Morgana, I did not expect to see you here?” Nimueh says.

“No. I came with my brother to see the fort, for curiosity's sake,” Morgana says, sweeping to the table. “I think you know everyone? Sir Gwaine, recently much at court, Sir Mordred, and Sir Arthur, Lord Pendragon's son.”

Nimueh's gaze sweeps over them, but she knows her manners. She nods to them and sits again, Morgana also sitting. Gwen picks up a jug of water and fills all their glasses.

“Are you here about the recent fuss?” Arthur asks, thrilled at being able to speak to her freely for the first time in his life.

“Yes,” she says, looking not so thrilled about that.

“Ah. It was very exciting. We were all very lucky that his highness chose these days to make his visits.”

“Yes, very lucky,” Nimueh says, shortly.

Arthur, though, finally has a voice and is going to use it.

“You should have seen him, High Priestess. He was magnificent. And we were equally lucky that sir Mordred was here, and the Lady Morgana. Between the three of them they were able to share their power. A Druid spell, I believe? I know that you yourself are versed in Druid magic.”

“Yes,” Nimueh says, sharp now.

“Sir Mordred, you know, studied with the Druids for a time. He was taken captive by them as a child and used to send a message, and he was fascinated by their art.”

“Indeed?” Nimueh asks, turning to Mordred.

“Yes, Ma'am,” he says, gulping.

“And what about you, Sir Gwaine? What part did you play in all this?” Nimueh asks.

“Oh, you know me. I got into trouble, did a bit of sword fighting, had a go at killing those unkillable knights of Muslin.”

“Medhir. Muslin is a fabric,” Nimueh says, tightly.

Arthur and Gwaine exchange a brief glance. She knows, then, who was here. Morgana draws her into a conversation about fabrics and the knights eat in silence until Merlin enters. Merlin is dressed to impress, as he has been for all his inspections, and he strides into the room letting the door swing, talking still to sir Leon and sir Lancelot, drawing off his gloves. He looks very princely.

“...the defence above the culvert is very impressive, I think I'll report that especially to my father. As I understand it that was important in some of the early sorties against the fort? Very well. Ah, Nimueh. How pleasant. I see my friends are making you welcome, but I extend the invitation to lunch with us all the same, in case they have been remiss in doing so.”

He takes Nimueh's hand and kisses it before taking a seat between her and Arthur. Arthur feels Merlin's pride at seeing him as a knight, and he smiles. Lancelot and Leon take seats, too, and Nimueh frowns deeply as the new arrivals pull plates and food towards themselves without ceremony. Merlin doesn't notice, so Arthur pushes gently, testing his strength. Merlin frowns and turns a concerned look on him, pressing Arthur's thigh under the table with his own in question, so it must have been gentler than he meant. He tries again and Merlin sways in his seat and laughs.

“Excuse me, sorry. Nimueh, we do not stand on ceremony here. Morgana, have you not eaten anything?”

“I was waiting for you, brother,” Morgana says.

Arthur can feel her, but they're not connected anymore. It's almost like having something taken, but he pushes that away and focusses on the meat and bread left on his plate. There's quiet, and then Percival and Gwaine start a good natured argument and Mordred asks Leon a question and soon there's easy conversation, as usual.

“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin say, interrupting his conversation with Morgana, “I meant to ask, would you be willing to make a report on the outer defences for me? I haven't had a chance to have a look yet, and I'd like to ride back to Camelot with Nimueh when she leaves.”

“Of course,” Arthur says, and rises from the table.

Merlin's given him a position, shown trust in him, and now he's making it clear to Nimueh and the whole kingdom that here, Arthur is a knight, not his shadow. Arthur bows to him and retreats to the hall, finding Elyan by the fire, just coming off duty. He keeps Arthur company as Arthur writes up the report and then they head back to Merlin's chambers with it.

“My sister wishes to marry Lancelot,” Elyan says, slowing their pace.

“Do you not wish it?” Arthur asks.

“I don't know. I watched him with you for months, Arthur.”

“You know the needs of soldiers on campaign, as does your sister. Lancelot's indiscretion is hardly uncommon.”

“Leon never strayed.”

“Ha! You keep telling yourself that. I can name four knights that I know of, and three that I suspect.”

“I-”

“Sir Loholt, Elyan?”

“Curse you, Arthur Pendragon. She's my sister.”

“You'll not find a more faithful, nor more loving, man than Lancelot, Elyan. He's a good man.”

“Ah, I'm sorry, Arthur. I forget, sometimes, that you... we all know that we are marrying some day, and that these are but friendships, but you...”

“It is not a prerequisite for a shadow,” Arthur says, sharply, “it is hardly my position that makes me... I prefer the company of men, yes, but I am...”

“I didn't mean it like that.”

Arthur sighs and waves his apology away.

“It's fine. Besides the fact that Lancelot is a good man, your sister is more than capable of looking after herself. You've seen her fight. She's friends with high ladies, princes, and is an ear for the king's shadow. She's hardly without protection. She might be a woman and without a position in court, but she's still probably one of the most powerful people you'll meet. Show some respect for that and allow her this happiness, if she wishes it.”

“Very well. I am leaving the fort, soon. I have stayed longer than necessary already. I may ride to Camelot when my sister does.”

“Very well.”

They reach the door as the conversation ends and enter together. Merlin is still at the table with Nimueh and Lady Morgana, but everyone else has left. Merlin looks up as they enter and holds out a hand for the report before dismissing them. Arthur's beginning to feel weary and when they step into the hall he pauses a moment.

“Are you well, sir Arthur?” Elyan asks.

“I would like to lie down, actually.”

Gwen comes out after them and closes the door quietly behind her.

“Arthur, Merlin says you are to rest in my bed until Nimueh can be got rid of,” she says, and Arthur is more than happy to do so.

Merlin leaves the next day, among more fanfare than he arrived, Gwaine and Elyan either side of him. Morgana rides in a carriage with Nimueh, Gwen sitting on the back. They ride out among cheers and Arthur feels the connection between himself and Merlin stretch, and keep stretching. He smiles as it does not break, even when Merlin reaches Camelot. Somehow Nimueh has been appeased, and they are stronger than ever.

  
 

 


	8. Chapter Eight

The remaining four months he has at the fort are long ones. Percival and Mordred leave them, Percival to return to his family, Mordred to search out a fortune where he will not be persecuted, and Arthur's left, once more, with Lancelot and Leon to keep him company. He refuses Lancelot's advances and keeps to himself, taking on solitary watch duties and using the time to think about all that has happened.

***

When Arthur returns to the city, almost a year since he left, he feels out of place. He slips back into his old position at Merlin's heel, but Tristan is close more than before, and Merlin spends much more time in court with his father and less among his friends. He's grimmer than he was when they parted, and Arthur finds it hard to find joy within him.

They find a rare moment alone, a week after Arthur returns, in Merlin's bed chamber. Tristan has been called away to other duties, the king and Nimueh are away, and the queen is, as she is more and more often, away too, staying at her house away beyond the forest. Merlin is sat in the window seat and Arthur, shadowed and servile, is kneeling at his feet removing his boots.

“Enough, Merlin,” he says, when the boot comes off all of a sudden and lands him on his arse.

Merlin's eyes flash, but he otherwise doesn't respond. Arthur doesn't know if he's safe or not, so he's careful.

“This is not my job. Sitting at your feet and removing your shoes is not my duty, where is your manservant?”

“You can speak, Arthur,” Merlin says on a sigh.

“What's wrong with you? What happened when you returned?”

“Wrong?”

“You're... sad and morose and unhappy and miserable and unbearable!”

“Ah, yes. That. I am just thinking, Arthur. After what we've done, how are we meant to just... Our prophecies are hardly... I'm just sitting here, doing nothing!”

“Yes, because you choose to. One day your father will die and you will be king. The prophecies are just that- stories with threads of truth. When your father dies, you will let me go and I will be... I will be free. The rest doesn't matter to me. We'll be great, Merlin, we will.”

“And until then?”

“Until then you find it inside yourself to forgive your father, you build a relationship with your sister and make sure the darkness inside her is always countered by that wonderful light. And you petition your father until he lets you ride to war, so you can show everyone, you can show everyone what you can do. I will ride with you, and we will content ourselves with small deeds until your father leaves this land to you. “

“I do?”

“You do. And you look after your mother.”

“My mother. My mother.”

“We'll visit her, yes?”

“Yeah.”

After that conversation, Merlin is a little better, but he still keeps to himself more and sits in court for long, boring hours where Arthur is obliged to stay with him and stay shadowed. It's a difficult mantle to take on after tasting so much freedom, but Arthur grew up in the role, so he manages.

***

It's at Tintagel, the queen's castle, that things change. Arthur is there with Merlin, standing still and quiet at lunch one day, listening to the queen talk to her son, when his attention is grabbed by someone outside. He beams and unshadows himself, bowing low to the queen before speaking.

“Excuse me, but Sir Mordred and Sir Gwaine are here, your majesties,” he says.

“You need not be so formal, Arthur. Not before me. Go on, Merlin. Go greet your friends,” the queen says, eyes on Arthur, willing him to stay. When Merlin's gone she points to the chair he vacated, so Arthur sits.

“Arthur. You've protected my son for a long time, but I want to ask something more of you,” she says, voice soft and gentle.

Arthur remembers her from when he was small, always kind, laughing, always gentle. She retreated from their lives as Merlin grew and he'd forgotten how beautiful she feels.

“Anything, Hunith,” he says, forgetting himself.

She smiles widely and he feels her joy at being set apart from her role as queen and he wonders, not for the first time, why she married the king.

“I love my husband,” she says, and for a moment Arthur thinks she's read his mind. “And I know that Merlin loves his father. I know that he isn't always a good man, though. I want Merlin to be a good man. You are the other side of his coin, the closest he has come to... when he asks you to be his consort, I know you will says yes, but he will not ask unless he understands. Do you see?”

“When I was small, I thought a shadow's role was to be his king's consort. My parents tried to explain, but by the time I was four it was such a conviction of mine that they had stopped bothering to explain. I know that I love your son, I've never questioned it. But to be his consort, and all that entails?” To be his lover, Arthur thinks. Because that's what Hunith is asking of him.

He thinks back over the years. The fights they've had, the bitter arguments, the dislike between them. He thinks of the week spent in Merlin's bed, in Merlin's arms. He thinks of Merlin in his trysts with various knights, squires and stable boys. He thinks of Merlin's smile and his joy at seeing Arthur at the fort.

“I love your son,” he repeats, and he does, he loves Merlin. Not like he loved Lancelot or Leon, deeper than that, stronger. He looks up as Merlin bounds back in with Mordred and Gwaine on his heels.

“Mother! We're going out to the bee-keeper's for some honey for you, and then we're going to go up to the clearing in the field and spar, unless you need me here?” Merlin says, eyes bright, childish excitement in him.

“No, go ahead. Arthur and I will keep each other company,” she says, and Merlin beams before bouncing out again.

“I love him,” Arthur says, surprised.

“Yes, I thought you might. I believe he loves you in return, in the same way. Make him aware, make him understand. When his father dies... Merlin will have great power. Not only will he inherit the kingdom, he will become a dragon lord. You know his prophecy, but there's more truth in it than most. The last dragon is called Kilgarrah. Balinor banished him long, long ago, but he will be back. In Merlin's lifetime, or in his childrens' lifetime, I do not know. But he will return, and Merlin... Merlin will learn just how much power he has. He needs someone to temper than.”

“What makes you think I...”

“I have watched you, Arthur Pendragon. I know what it was that really happened when your mother died. I know where that kind of grief comes from, and so do others. When Balinor is gone, I am not the only one who will be looking to you to reign in their prince. Merlin will be brilliant, but he is headstrong and stubborn. He will need you.”

“Why... why are you telling me this? Now?”

“Because I know my son. He is on the threshold of something. I am asking you to step through it, with him.”

“I will,” Arthur says, and he means it.

He will.

***

There was a time when Merlin and Arthur had hated the ink that brought them so close. There was a time when the mark across Arthur's back had been a burden, a duty, a servitude. There was a time when Merlin had felt the fetters of being always with his shadow. But that evening, alone in the meadow, honey still sweet in their mouths from the evening meal, they do not. They don't have to speak to understand one another, so when their lips finally meet in a kiss, there's no hesitation, and nothing to hold them back.

 

 

_~fin~_

 

 


End file.
